


My Empty Romance

by jatty



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M, High School, M/M, Self-Harm, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 17:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 62,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jatty/pseuds/jatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in Not Okay!verse. After he misjudges the relationship he sees between Frank and a certain blonde cheerleader, Gerard falls prey to the seductive trap that his “recently adored” art teacher sets up for him. As Gerard deludes himself into believing that he and his teacher are in love, Frank tries desperately to win his affection, unaware of how misguided and confused Gerard really is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Innocent Romance

The shower was running in the bathroom; Gerard was in the room but had no intention of stepping beneath the scalding hot stream. He’d allowed the water to hit him enough to drench his hair so he looked like he’d attempted to get clean, but then had immediately stepped out of the shower onto the bathmat, wrung out his hair, stepped back into his boxers, and sat down on the closed toilet seat.

He glanced at the locked door once again and then reached for his pile of clothes on the counter, not taking his eyes off of the doorknob as if expecting someone to actually try to come in. 

Under his clothes he had a razorblade—the metal sharpener unscrewed from a pencil sharpener he’d stolen from his art class. It was unbelievably small, but it carried out the job Gerard had for it with undeniable precision. 

Gerard’s eyes wandered slowly from the doorknob to his own skin, scanning the dark scars that lined the insides of his elbows. There were a few light lines on his wrists and down his forearms, but those were places he’d long since abandoned. 

The flesh of his wrists was too easily seen by the other kids at school, too easily broken open by the jocks that would grab him… The sensitive skin at the bend in his arm was much easier to hide, but the area lost its allure after his father had seen one of his cuts and promptly shouted that Gerard would _not_ be doing that again—he would not be “ruining” his _fucking_ body “to get high”.

Because that was all this was to him—Gerard’s way of getting high because fucking Dr. Phil or Oprah or someone had said on TV that the act was just a way of releasing endorphins or some shit like that… 

It wasn’t about getting high, though—it wasn’t about forgetting for a moment or an attempt to attract attention—it was about taking all of the pain inside that Gerard couldn’t nurse, couldn’t cope with, and putting it outside where it could be reached, treated, and healed. Some of the bad always bled out of the splits in his flesh and he really was better when the blood dried and the wound scabbed over.

Not _okay_ , but better.

Gerard needed to feel better. He was wearing himself out feeling so pessimistic, so sad…so _uninspired_. In a way, it was as if he felt nothing anymore. The numbness wasn’t welcome, though—it was crushing him.

He wanted to feel alive, not dead. He didn’t cut to die like notes shoved in his locker or tossed onto his desk told him he _should_ do. He cut to feel alive…to feel, to make it through another day.

His fingers were shaking as he lowered the blade to the inside of his left thigh, unconsciously deciding on a patch of skin to split. Just as the sharp edge touched him, a shrill, girlish laughter rang out over top of the rush of the shower and Gerard’s head sprang back up to examine the still closed door. 

That was Frank’s laugh, he’d know it anywhere. 

In an instant, his heart went from catastrophically high to rock bottom. It was amazing how fast one could get his hopes up and then shatter them—almost within the same millisecond. 

He wanted to go out into the living room and sit with him and Mikey, talk to him and be near him, sit close to him, touch him…but there was no point in that. Frank had a girlfriend, Frank was gone. Whatever hopes he’d ever had, whatever dreams, they were crushed and gone. He’d waited too long to swallow the fear and take a step forward.

He’d waited too long, and he fucking hated himself for it.

The hatred, the rejection, and the loneliness guided his gaze and his hand back to his thigh, forced down the blade in one angry, desperate movement, and spilt the first of the blood.

Gerard sobbed gently, but not from the sting of the first cut, or the second, or the third. He was so exhausted and so empty—he knew that no person would ever willingly resign himself to a life, or even a _day_ , dating a messed up freak like Gerard Way. 

No person deserved a punishment like that…especially not someone like Frank. 

He slammed the razor onto the bathroom counter once he was finished with it, as if disciplining it for what he’d done. 

Part of the reason why no one would ever consider showing any fucking affection to him was because he kept doing fucking shit like this!

Gerard dropped his head into his hands and tried to choke back some of his sobs, not wanting Frank or Mikey to hear and come investigate. He moved his hands to look down at the five new cuts on his thighs through bleary eyes. One of the two on his right thigh was bleeding the worst, making a puddle on the toilet seat and staining the hem of his boxers. 

He quickly grabbed a fistful of toilet paper and wiped the blood off of the seat before dabbing it off of his cuts with neither discretion nor gentleness. Watching the white tissue absorb the blotches and lines of blood and stain with the liquid made him feel better… The tissue was taking away the blood, the fatigue, the loneliness, the fear, the rejection…

Even though he was shaking from nervousness and anxiety, he felt better. 

Even though he was still scared to death of what waited for him tomorrow, he felt better.

Even though he was still sad and completely alone, he felt better.

Even though life and everything he’d once loved had lost its allure, he felt…better?

Not okay, but better.

Yeah, he felt better…

He wiped his nose on a fresh piece of tissue as he stood up and opened the toilet, tossing all of the reddened and damp tissues inside before flushing.

He felt better, he felt better, he felt better…

Gerard turned off the shower and began to get dressed, being gentle so that his drying wounds wouldn’t tear open. 

He felt better. He felt better.

He looked at his reflection after wiping the fog off of the mirror. He looked pathetic… He looked like normal… He looked…better?

Yeah, he looked better…

Better…

Gerard began to cry again because he knew that he didn’t feel any better at all.

( ) ( ) ( )

Art class was the only place that the harassment from others stopped for Gerard. Since art was an elective and not a requirement past sophomore year, the students in the class generally had some sort of appreciation for drawings and paintings. In a bizarre twist, that meant he often got compliments from other students. 

The compliments didn’t stroke his ego as much as they should have. He was already too far gone to be built up by their words.

He was good at art? So fucking what? What good would that ever do him? 

It was like Ray said…he was never going to make it, and not just because he liked croquet and used to have a thing for Audrey Hepburn. It was because he had no fucking skills in anything useful…

And even his talents in art were failing him.

Taking the painting he’d spent the past three days working on, Gerard crumpled it in his fist and slammed it down onto his table. It was shit—everything he tried to work on turned to shit.

Gerard glared at his demolished project, thinking briefly about how it was going to affect his grade if he didn’t have something to turn in by Friday. All at once, a hand reached out and snagged the crumpled ball. 

His teacher’s hand.

Gerard closed his eyes and sighed heavily, awaiting a speech about how he needed to stop throwing tantrums and grow up or a lecture about completing what he’s started. 

It never came.

“Stay after class, Gerard. I need a word with you. Clean up your area if you’re done.” That was it. 

Gerard turned to watch his teacher walk away, surprised. The feeling didn’t last long, however. The teacher wanted to see him after class…during the teacher’s free period…that meant the possibility of a _very_ long lecture.

With a heavy sigh, Gerard got up to retrieve a towel to wipe up the few drops of paint that had gotten on to the black tabletop and to wash his palate and brushes of acrylic paints. 

( ) ( ) ( )

“Gerard, you’re one of my best students, but lately you haven’t been showing me your best work,” Barlow said as he leaned against the counter by Gerard’s seat. 

“I just haven’t been…” Gerard’s voice trailed off as he failed to find an excuse that didn’t involve sounding like a typical, underachieving drop out. 

“Your new work doesn’t have any _passion_ , Gerard! There’s no _feeling_ , no emotion! You’ve spent the past three days painting a woman dead at the foot of a staircase—not school appropriate, by the way, Gerard—and it has as much feeling to it as the gaudy, five-petaled flowers that freshman girls paint in my first period class. The _talent_ is there, but you’re not! What’s gotten into you?” Gerard didn’t say anything, just stared at the table feeling tired and helpless. He didn’t have passion anymore. He didn’t care anymore. Nothing mattered anymore… “What’s _wrong_ with you?” Barlow straightened himself from the counter and stepped closer to Gerard’s seat.

“I haven’t been feeling…good lately,” Gerard confessed. “I used to care a lot, you know, about my paintings and things, but lately…lately none of it matters to me. It doesn’t call to me like it used to. The ideas are all there, but they aren’t _good_. They’re not…”

“You’ve been sad lately, Gerard,” Barlow said softly. “You’ve been walking around in your own little haze, completely detached from the rest of us here on Earth.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Gerard answered through gritted teeth, anger rising from his gut. What did it matter if he detached himself? It wasn’t anyone’s business but his own. The only thing that happened when others tried to get involved in his emotions was the teachers finding themselves in over their heads and backing out, dropping him to the ground with no net to catch him. “What does it matter if my art _sucks_ these days!? Why do you care?” Gerard faced his teacher with rage, glaring intently at Barlow’s unchanging face. His lack of reaction set Gerard off worse. “It’s always the same thing! ‘Oh, poor pathetic High School Kid isn’t as engaged as he used to be.’ Is this like a movie? His problems are so clean-cut that some ten minute speech or a new girl moving to the school catching his attention is enough to bring him back? That’s not enough! There’s more going on with me! Fuck you!” Gerard caught himself just as he’d realized he lost himself—once it was already too late. 

He swallowed hard, cursed himself viciously inside his head and buried his head in his hands as he turned back to the table. 

It was all so overwhelming. His best friend and love of his life was being engrossed in a romance with a _cheerleader_ , it was his senior year and he was failing half his classes, every day brought a new onslaught of harassment from his peers, and his only escape—his artwork—had turned into garbage that hardly reflected his talent... 

He felt trapped, and he didn’t know what to do. 

“Maybe what you need, Gerard, isn’t something new,” Barlow said. Gerard jolted when he felt a hand on his shoulder, his teacher suddenly standing behind his seat. “Maybe it’s something older, something that’s been around for a while and actually knows you.” The hand slid from his shoulder to his throat. Gerard’s breath caught and he dropped his hands from his face. “You’re disenchanted with world, Gerard,” Barlow said, running his hand up Gerard’s cheek until a finger caressed his bottom lip. “If you let me, I can bring back some of the passion that you’ve let go. I can bring you back to Earth, Gerard.” Gerard whimpered softly, unable to form words as he felt his stomach writhe as the hand dropped to his middle and then lower. His breath came in shaky bursts as his teacher suddenly caressed his stomach and then, in one fluid motion, dropped to stroke him through his pants. “You’ve been on your own for so long.” Gerard gasped when the caressing that had come from no where turned into a grope, Barlow’s hot hand gripping him firmly. “You don’t have to be…”

“What are you doing?” Gerard breathed, his body beginning to shake. All at once the contact stopped and Gerard turned hastily around to meet his teacher’s gaze. “What are you doing to me?” He asked again, his voice loud and cracking as he grew frantic. Barlow no longer looked so calm.

“I want to teach you about _passion_ , Gerard,” Barlow said, regaining his cool. “I want to bring you back from wherever you’ve gone before it’s too late.”

“Too late?” Gerard asked nervously, finding his legs and standing up from his seat. He’d never spoken it before, but the art room was the one place in the school he felt safe. It was his domain, the one place he held supremacy over everybody else. Barlow had managed to become his favorite teacher, and not only because he taught Gerard his favorite subject or let him get away with insubordination of every form. He’d always seemed like a good man—concerned but not involved…

Now he was trying to get involved…

“I’m afraid that you’re going to hurt yourself,” Barlow said softly, caressing Gerard’s lower lip again with his thumb.

 _Intimately_ involved…

“I want to help you, but I don’t want to make you pour out your guts to me. I don’t want to see you cry, Gerard. Talking about it will just make you sad.” Gerard stared at him, eyes starting to tear at the words and from the storm growing inside of him. 

“What are you going to do to me?” He breathed, backing away from the hand the way a beaten dog would.

“Seduce you,” Barlow said with a growing smile. He must have seen something in Gerard’s face that he liked. “And build you back up. Bring you back to life and help you feel again. Don’t you want to feel something again? Something good?” Gerard nodded without thinking. “Is this your lunch period, Gerard?”

Gerard’s head began to spin. Lunch? He had lunch? What was lunch?

Yeah, lunch sounded right. 

He nodded.

“Okay, Gerard. I’ve got a meeting now, but if you come back here after school I’ll be here waiting for you. It’s alright if you decide you don’t want to. But remember, this is all about _you_ Gerard. It’s about making you feel better.”

Feel better? Gerard wanted to feel better.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard left the room in a daze and was in the same state when he dropped into his seat at the lunch table with Ray, Frank and Mikey. There was a fourth person at the table that Gerard didn’t notice for a moment, but once he saw her she was all he could acknowledge.

It was the cheerleader…the one who had stolen Frank from him. 

“What took you so long?” Frank asked him.

“Fall in in the bathroom?” Mikey asked before putting on a fake, humorless ‘ha-ha-ha’ laugh. Ray chuckled at Mikey’s comment, but didn’t make one of his own.

“Aren’t you, like, going to eat?” the cheerleader asked him, making Gerard realize that he’d forgotten to get food.

“Not hungry,” Gerard responded like a robot. He wished the girl would disappear… that’s why he’d painted her dead at the bottom of a staircase… 

“Did something happen, Gerard?” Frank asked, trying to look Gerard in the eye. Gerard averted his gaze every time. “You look kinda pale.”

“Yeah, you look like you’re going to be sick,” Ray added.

“No, that’s his normal face,” the cheerleader said with a giggle, probably trying to make a joke and failing at it. The dissatisfied looks that were passed at her just made her giggle again, this time from embarrassment.

What did Frank see in a heartless, plastic girl like her?

“I, uh, have to stay after school today,” Gerard said, casting his eyes down to the table.

“Did you get a detention?” Mikey asked. “Mom’s going to kill you,” he added with a childish laugh.

“No,” Gerard said, meeting Mikey’s gaze but ignoring Frank’s. Ray had returned all focus to his lunch. “I’m helping clean up the art room…I’ll get extra credit…”

“That’s cool,” Mikey muttered, not sure why but feeling as though he was being lied to. 

“Yeah,” the cheerleader said. “That’s neat that you’re getting more points, but don’t you already have, like, an A in that class? I mean, everyone knows you’re, like, the best artist in the school.” She shrugged her shoulders and made a face that asked Gerard if he really was unaware of this common knowledge.

How could Frank date someone so blonde? So dingy? So, _like_ , irritating? 

He deserved better! Someone who actually liked his friends, shared interests with him…loved him and not just the way he looked or the “bad boy” attitude he somehow still possessed when he sipped tea from a baby-blue cup…

But he also deserved someone who wasn’t fucked up and cut himself in the bathroom… Someone who didn’t draw his best friend’s girlfriend dead at the foot of a staircase that looked freakishly similar to the one outside the school…

“Are you okay?” The cheerleader asked. “You look like you’re going to cry…” He swore he heard her laugh. She fucking laughed at him and Frank said _nothing_.

“No,” Mikey said. “That’s his normal face.” Gerard wasn’t sure if Mikey was being serious or if he was just mocking the irritating girl.

( ) ( ) ( )

Easily seduced? Gerard guessed that was what he could call himself as he laid down on the paint stained drapery on the floor of the art room closet with his very recently adored teacher kissing and biting his exposed throat. 

Not ten minutes had passed since he’d entered the art room, and his teacher was already inside of him, pleasuring him in every way possible, stimulating every nerve and leaving Gerard gasping for more.

All of his needs were being met—he was kissed when he wanted kissed, touched when he wanted touched, held when he wanted held… The pace was right, the feeling was right, everything was _right_.

Through the awkwardness of the moment—how had his teacher become his lover in under three hours? How had this passion appeared from nowhere? How had his _love_ for this teacher erupted from the ashes of his love for Frank?—he felt better. So much better.

All of his troubles were gone for the moment—completely forgotten about. Gerard knew nothing of cheerleaders, unsympathetic fathers, cruel jocks, or people named Frank Iero. He only knew the sensation of being filled, comforted, pleasured…

He gasped loudly as the spot inside of him was struck repeatedly. In combination with the hand pumping his member in time with the thrusts, he felt his orgasm collapse upon him, coating his and Barlow’s chests. 

His teacher followed shortly after, moaning deeply once and then kissing Gerard harshly. When he moved to pull out, Gerard immediately clasped onto him, groaning in protest and moving to burry his face in his teacher’s shoulder.

“What?” Barlow asked in a consoling tone. “What’s the matter?”

“Wait,” Gerard panted. “Please. Just stay. Just for another minute…stay.” Barlow sighed, but didn’t sound irritated or annoyed. 

He moved so he propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at Gerard’s bliss-stricken face. 

“You’re beautiful, Gerard,” Barlow said softly, wiping some of the sweaty hair off of Gerard’s face. Gerard looked up at him with so much affection that Barlow was caught off guard. “So why do you try to ruin it with these scars?” Despite Gerard’s following pleas, he pulled himself out and slid off the condom, tying it off and setting it aside to be disposed of later. 

Barlow ran a finger over one of the inflamed and angry cuts on Gerard’s left thigh and sighed. 

“It’s just hard to see him with her,” Gerard answered, closing his eyes as he let the words slip by. He felt safe here… He didn’t want to pollute the air by keeping secrets, but he didn’t like having to remember Frank and that girl.

“I don’t want to see any fresh cuts on you, Gerard, after today.” Gerard looked up to meet his teacher’s gaze, put off by the sudden seriousness after the passionate, beautiful moment. The growing, bad feelings were erased, however, when Barlow leaned down and kissed him. 

Gerard wound his arms around his teacher’s shoulders and held him close, nuzzling his neck and chest alternately and feeling that he never wanted to let go. He truly felt safe and comforted here…Like nothing bad could happen. When things seemed bad, something good always came.

This was wrong, but it was so…right. 

Gerard felt better, and he knew this feeling would last.

“You’re so affectionate, Gerard. No one would be able to tell by looking at you.” Gerard responded only by cuddling closer and holding his teacher tighter. “It has to be killing you inside, to have so much love and no one to give it to.” Gerard froze for a minute, and then slowly nodded, head buried beneath Barlow’s chin. 

He didn’t know if Mr. Barlow loved him, truly loved him, and he admitted to himself that he didn’t care. He found someone who would take his affection and return it. That was close enough, and Gerard felt that it was something that someone as tainted and scarred as him could deserve.

( ) ( ) ( )

Before Gerard left, right after he’d been told that it was his job to dispose of the condom since it was too risky for his teacher to carry out the task, Barlow had given him an assignment.

He was to sketch a drawing that embodied the feelings he’d experienced. Barlow had probably meant the feelings he’d experienced while lying on the paint spattered sheet in the locked art room closet, but that wasn’t what had been transmitted through Gerard’s hand from his brain.

The feeling he forced the charcoal to embody was the agony brought on by seeing his dark infatuation falling victim to the trap set by the seemingly innocent but highly dangerous, beautiful man-eater. The drawing had feeling behind it, more than just hatred and jealousy… Gerard liked it…

It felt good to see his skills and passion come back so easily. He was happy. For a long time—well, at least a few good hours—everything was beautiful and perfect. 

And then it was as if the spell had been broken all at once and his heart was shattered just as he’d pieced it back together. 

What the fuck had he just done?

He’d slept with his teacher, agreed to dispose of the evidence…promised to keep it a secret… Had he just let himself become Barlow’s play thing?

A whore?

Someone—some _thing_ not even close to being worthy of someone like Frank, his so called ‘dark infatuation’? A problem with cutting was something Frank could easily overlook if he wanted to—fucking your art teacher was not.

Fucking your art teacher for no reason beyond “inspiring passion” was not good…was not smart…was not easily overlooked…was not forgivable. 

Gerard was suddenly shaken by a harsh sob and covered his mouth with his hand. He stared at his drawing as his vision was clouded with tears and he began to tremble.

What had he done? Oh, God, what had he done?


	2. My Childish Romance

He left for school early, surprising everyone in his house since he was usually being forced to call home to report that he’d received detention once again for arriving late. The school was a thirty minute walk away—deemed too close by the school to warrant bussing—but Gerard conquered it in fifteen, running as fast as he could with his shoulder bag floating out behind him.

The only other students in the building were those who were parts of study groups, making their ways into designated classrooms, computer labs, and libraries. Gerard had to pretend he was like them and was forced to slow down to a quick walk to avoid drawing attention from the few teachers that wandered the halls during the hour before classes were to start.

He avoided these teachers at all costs. If they saw his face or recognized his figure, he would no doubt be forced to wait outside until “a decent” hour before entering the schoolhouse. 

He had no place in the building. He was a failure, a drop out…

Mr. Barlow was one of the teachers who enjoyed coming in early to prepare his lesson plans and even work on some of his own projects, and Gerard knew that he’d be there that morning. He needed to talk to him, to see him and chase some of his terrors away. 

Gerard wanted to know if he really had become just a mere sex object to the man, or if there was more between them. He knew that the two of them could never be an out-in-the-open couple, but at least they had the chance to be one in private…so long as he wasn’t being used and scoffed at behind his back.

Just remembering how safe he’d felt the day before, cuddling against his teacher’s chest in the paint-scented closet, made him feel sick. Everything he loved turned sour… Everything he enjoyed became a mockery to him. He prayed that this wasn’t going to be the same.

He wanted to feel safe again, and cherished, and warm. 

Gerard didn’t knock before opening the door to the art room and bursting in. The thought didn’t even cross his mind until Barlow glanced up from his desk with a severe look of rage on his face that made Gerard slink backwards in fear.

“Not now, Gerard. Come back later,” he said, turning his head back down to his desk and returning to reading the papers there. Gerard stared at him as his chest tightened painfully against the intense pounding of his heart.

“I—I finished my project,” Gerard choked out, breathing heavily as he tried to level out his breaths from his sprint to the building. 

“ _Later_ , Gerard. I don’t have time now.” Gerard made a strangled sound, but Barlow didn’t look up.

It _was_ like he’d feared. His teacher didn’t have time for him… Perhaps he’d realized during the night that Gerard was more trouble than he was worth.

Barlow was like all of the other teachers who tried to get involved, started to build him up, found it too difficult and dropped him back down onto the pavement. 

Gerard began to tremble and he swallowed down the lump in his throat, preparing to speak because it was just too painful to just let himself fall quietly down. 

“Please,” Gerard said, no louder than a whisper. “I came all the way here—I ran! I…I need to see you! _Please!_ ”

“Gerard, not _now_ ,” Barlow annunciated, looking up from his papers to pass his student a vicious scowl that made Gerard’s eyes start to tear. He didn’t want to cry in front of Barlow, but the intense stress on his heart combined with the weariness of his body caused a sob to break through before he could stifle it. “Don’t start to cry,” his teacher said, softening his face and his voice.

Gerard looked away, allowing a curtain of his hair to hide his face as he wiped his cheek on his sleeve. He stumbled a step towards the door and tried to keep his balance as a wave of nausea and dizziness struck him. 

“Gerard…”

“I’m just going to go,” Gerard whimpered, trying not to sound pathetic, not wanting Barlow to think he was trying to gain pity by acting so weak.

“Gerard, wait a minute.” Gerard didn’t look away from the door, but he didn’t move any closer to it. He tried to straighten his posture a little so he wouldn’t appear as small and helpless as he felt. 

He could hear Barlow stand from the desk and began shaking harder when he heard the footsteps approaching him. 

He didn’t want touched again. He wanted left alone as his feelings of rejection and pain turned swiftly to anger and betrayal. Barlow used him…now he was tossing him to the side like snot-filled tissue. 

“I didn’t mean to bite,” Barlow said, placing a hand gently on Gerard’s shoulder. “Mornings aren’t a good time for me. Come back later and we’ll look at your project.” He was using that tone…that _teachery_ tone used on students who have no skills at all but whom he is obliged to compliment. It was a fake tone and it made Gerard sick.

“Fine,” he spat out, shrugging the hand off of his shoulder and exiting the room into the hallway. “Later,” he mumbled in a shaking breath. Barlow said nothing to him, but the door closed behind him and another sob broke free. 

He made it halfway down the hall before he collapsed against the wall in a fit of muffled hysterics, punching the brick and biting into his hand to keep his growls and wails quiet. From the silence all around he was sure that no one except for the teachers locked away in their rooms was up here on the second floor. He didn’t want to attract their attention, to get even more soulless, heartless, _wicked_ people involved with him.

He didn’t want hurt anymore, he just wanted left alone. No one inside of his heart or head whispering lies to him or jerking him around. It was safe when he was alone. 

It wasn’t better, but it was safe. 

Gerard fell silent and pressed his forehead against the wall, the cool brick soothing his sweaty brow. He didn’t know how long he stood there with his arms circling his torso and his eyes closed, but out of nowhere a hand grabbed him.

He jolted, afraid that it was Barlow, afraid that it was a teacher, afraid that it was a jock come to beat him. When he twisted around, however, he saw that it was Frank.

“Gerard? You’re not usually here this early.” Frank’s smile faltered when he analyzed his friend’s face. “What happened?”

“What are you talking about?” Gerard said sarcastically, planning to make a joke and lighten the mood though not wholly certain of what he’d say. 

“Frankie! There you are!” Gerard and Frank both turned their heads towards the end of the hall where the blonde cheerleader had appeared. Frank’s face contorted with conflict and he glanced back at Gerard, mouth open like he wanted to say something.

“I’m fine, Frank,” Gerard said before swallowing hard. He glanced away and then back to Frank’s eyes. They looked confused.

“No you’re not,” Frank said softly, closing his eyes suddenly when the cheerleader began running towards them.

“Sure I am,” Gerard mumbled. “This is my normal face.” Just before the cheerleader reached Frank’s side, Gerard shouldered past him and wandered aimless down the hallway, ignoring Frank as he called after him.

Frank didn’t follow him, that was all Gerard focused on. Frank didn’t try to catch him and see what the real problem was…Frank didn’t care, he had his girlfriend, his pretty girlfriend who didn’t fuck art teachers or cut herself open at night while her brother and best friend are in the next room.

Part of him was glad… It would hurt so much worse if Frank tried to get involved, started to build him up, realized he wasn’t worth it and left him behind to crumble. If Frank did that…

If _Frank_ did _that_ …

Gerard didn’t even know what he’d do…

( ) ( ) ( )

He was late to first period and threatened by the teacher in front of the class. He didn’t say anything in response, just sat down and tossed his text book onto his desk and stared at it for the remaining ten minutes of the class. 

In the hallway on his way to second period, he was laughed at shrilly by a group of painted girls. He knew they were laughing at him, he wasn’t just delusional or self-conscious. They were looking right at him, glancing up him from his shoes to his face as he walked by.

In third period he stared out the window, even though his teacher asked him questions. He only moved his gaze when a jock somewhere in the room blurted out “ah, he doesn’t know the answer to _that!_ He’s an ‘art’ student”. Yeah, he was an art student…that meant he was a fucking idiot.

He glanced down at his text book, saw the math equation and immediately knew the answer. He didn’t say the answer. It was enough for him just to know that he knew it. There was no point proving it to the others, they’d just laugh.

Fourth period was art, but his heart was broken even further when his teacher refused to acknowledge him beyond “get some paper, Gerard” and “start a new project, Gerard”. 

Barlow didn’t care about the sadness in Gerard’s eyes. He didn’t care when all Gerard painted was a big red X on a black background. There was passion in that X. Gerard could feel it.

That X meant many things—Gerard Way, signing off; I quit; This project is stupid; I’m angry; I don’t care; I’m not doing anything you fucking tell me to right now— and Barlow saw it for the tantrum that it was. He understood it.

“After school, Gerard,” Barlow said as Gerard threw the picture and the paintbrush that rendered it into the trash.

“Why?” Gerard asked emotionlessly, washing the black and red paint from his hands in scalding water. He couldn’t cut in school, but there were plenty of other ways available to take the pain inside and move it outside.

“Gerard,” Barlow said with an audible smirk. It made Gerard nervous because it made him hopeful. Maybe he’d been wrong all day. Maybe he misunderstood what had happened this morning. Maybe Barlow wasn’t abandoning him after all. “Come see me after school. We’ll talk.” Gerard nodded and turned off the faucet. “And get that paintbrush out of the trash.” Gerard glanced at the mess in the trash and frowned. 

It was the first unimportant thing that had his absolute attention all day…digging out the paintbrush from the mess of paper towels and washing it off. 

He’d do anything Barlow said if it meant he could have that affection back, hoping that that affection had never gone away. Hoping he’d been wrong, praying…believing. 

( ) ( ) ( )

The cheerleader wasn’t at lunch with them because they decided that the weather was nice enough to sit outside. Ray and Mikey were talking to each other—arguing actually—about something that neither Gerard nor Frank recognized. 

With them distracted, that left Gerard with no alternatives but to talk to Frank or sit in silence. Frank wasn’t going to have that. Not after this morning.

“You look better,” Frank said to him. Gerard shrugged. “Are you mad at me for something?”

“No,” Gerard answered. “Just…”

“Is it about Becky?”

“Who?”

“The cheerleader!” Frank exclaimed. 

“Oh,” Gerard answered. “No. She’s fine…I don’t really care.”

“Yeah, okay,” Frank said, rolling his eyes but otherwise letting the topic drop. “So why were you at school so early?”

“I was helping the art teacher with something,” Gerard lied. Frank sighed and stared across the school yard at the packs of students wandering back and forth. Gerard wasn’t letting him get anywhere with their conversation so he decided to just let it drop. Gerard would talk when he wanted to, not a minute sooner.

If he wanted to pretend like he wasn’t standing in the hallway crying at six thirty in the morning then fine. Frank would just let him… After all, it wasn’t—

For the third time, someone’s chewed on lunch had made contact with his head. This time it was something wet.

Frank shuddered and shook the food away, eyeing the spit-coated piece of pizza that sat on the stone beside him. This was getting old…

“Guys that’s mean! You need to just leave him alone!” Frank shuddered again and groaned. He’d come to know that voice anywhere. He looked towards Gerard, preparing to apologize with his eyes for the way his presence drew out the cheerleader, but Gerard was already skulking away.

Watching him go made Frank feel a sudden pang of sadness and fear. It wasn’t like he was watching Gerard walk back inside of the school building, it was like he was watching Gerard leave…leave _him_.

( ) ( ) ( )

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Gerard. I didn’t want it to come off that way to you this morning,” Barlow said, looking at Gerard sympathetically in the locked closet of the art room. Nothing had started yet, the paint stained sheet not even laid out. They were just talking… Barlow was just talking to him. Not trying to sleep with him right away. 

“I thought you were…I thought you were throwing me away,” Gerard confessed, looking at his teacher in search of comfort.

“No, Gerard. I don’t want to hurt you like that. You mean a lot to me. I could _never_ hurt you like that.”

“Or you just don’t want me to tell,” Gerard mumbled, looking back at the floor. He gasped in fear when Barlow’s hands grabbed his shoulders firmly. Eight years of being bullied in school, that grip meant pain was going to come.

“Gerard. I’m not being nice so that you won’t tell. Look at me!” Gerard immediately shot his eyes from the floor to his teacher’s. “I brought you back so I can help you. I want to help you get better.”

“I want to get better,” Gerard said quickly, not really thinking about the words. He was in defense mode, agreeing with everything said to avoid a punch or a kick. He didn’t care if it was weak, he’d been hurt enough for the day.

“I know you do,” Barlow said, acknowledging the terror in Gerard’s eyes and letting him go. Gerard dropped his gaze back to the floor and began shaking. 

“Please don’t be using me,” Gerard mumbled suddenly, feeling his very sanity starting to slip. 

“I’m not using you,” Barlow responded.

“I couldn’t take it.”

“I won’t hurt you.” So calm…so genuine. 

“Don’t make me regret this,” he said, tears falling from his eyes.

“I don’t want you to.” Soothing…

“I don’t want to hurt anymore,” he confessed, leaning into the arms that suddenly surrounded him. 

“Tell me what’s hurting you, Gerard. I’ll listen.” He caressed Gerard’s hair gently and nuzzled the top of his head. “I’ll help get you through this.”

“It’s _her_ ,” Gerard panted against Barlow’s chest. “I don’t want her around him anymore. She’s making him…different.”

“The man-eater?” Barlow asked, glancing at the painting that was sitting on one of the shelves in the small room. 

“She’s taking him away from me, and I know you can’t steal people but I felt like he was mine and now he’s with _her_ ,” Gerard rambled, trying to express what he was feeling after trying to keep the thoughts away for so long. Frank deserved to be happy, even if a ditzy cheerleader was what did it for him. Gerard knew he needed to accept that, but it killed him to even attempt it. She wasn’t right for him! Frank was wild, obnoxious, mischievous…not preppy, sophisticated, and well-groomed like her. 

“Here I thought you were in love with her…”

“No!” Gerard moaned out with a heavy sigh. 

“So then you love him?” Gerard didn’t answer. It wasn’t necessary. The painting said enough and if his teacher couldn’t interpret it then that was his problem. “No wonder you’re so sad.” He began stroking Gerard’s sides gently, enough to suggest they go further but not enough to initiate it. “You must be thinking that you can’t compete with her.”

“I can’t,” Gerard groaned, body shivering at the light touches.

“You’re not trying.”

“I don’t want him,” he lied, gasping when one of the hands moved to stroking him through his pants. 

“Yes you do,” Barlow said with a laugh, grabbing the sheet off of the shelf with one hand and draping it onto the floor messily. Gerard began to unbutton his jacket, closing his eyes against the pleasure surrounding him.

“I don’t want him…to lose what makes him happy,” he added, sighing when all contact was broken in order for them both to remove their clothes. 

“Then let him go and find what makes _you_ happy,” Barlow said before grabbing the back of Gerard’s head and forcing him into a hard kiss. Gerard moaned and pressed his body against his teacher’s, all of his anxiety, confusion, and pain leaving him. 

He felt better already, just being here in his teacher’s arms. 

But the good feeling lasted only as long as it had the day before.

As he began on his second assignment—“paint me a picture, Gerard. Show me passion in revenge”—he’d been happy. He’d felt released and healed, and then he began thinking and felt suddenly angry.

At first he’d thought that his teacher had let him say everything he wanted to, even what he didn’t want to, without interruption. But then he realized that they’d still been discussing his Dark Infatuation and the Man-Eater when the caressing had started and distracted him. Wasn’t there more he wanted to say than just “I’m jealous of her” and “I’m afraid to make a move because I don’t want him to reject me”?

Did he even get to express those feelings? The ones that were gnawing on him the most at that moment? He couldn’t remember…

Then all he could acknowledge was that it was too late anyway. He’d done it again.

Maybe Frank _could_ forgive a one-time thing between him and a teacher, a moment of weakness and stupidity…but not twice. That just showed a horrific lack of self-control. 

He wanted Frank more than he could ever want Barlow…but he didn’t make a move. He ran away whenever _she_ appeared and left Frank calling after him.

Gerard covered his face despite the paint on his hands and sobbed. 

“Why am I doing this?” He asked out loud, as if expecting an answer. The only thing that came was the realization that if it wasn’t a sense of unbearable conflict crashing down on him after every day he’d spend with his teacher, it would be a feeling of self-loathing for cutting himself open to escape the pain.

Both actions were a means of release, and he didn’t know which one was worse.


	3. My Watercooler Romance

Frank stared through the low ceiling of his bedroom without blinking. It was four a.m. and he knew he wasn’t going back to sleep just as he knew he wasn’t getting out of bed any time soon.

His head was spinning with thoughts, mostly ones about Gerard. It wasn’t uncommon for Gerard to end up in something over his head and refuse the help offered to him, but something seemed different this time.

There was something keeping Gerard away from him this time like a magnetic barrier. Frank had a feeling this barrier wore a blue miniskirt and had its blonde hair up in a ponytail. 

He rolled onto his side and decided to stare through the wall for a change as he tried to think of what he could do to be rid of the girl, and what could possibly be upsetting Gerard other than the normal things.

Part of the reason the girl clung to him, other than lusting after his looks and what he “stood for”, was because he was so nice to her… He didn’t have the heart—didn’t have the _guts_ —to shove her away. Being mean to other boys was one thing, but stomping on the feelings of a girl was another. (Jumping out of a locker and scaring the piss out of a girl because her boyfriend had punched your crush in the face the day before was another matter entirely.) He didn’t want to confront her about her feelings. He thought he’d made it clear already that he didn’t like her back. He wouldn’t kiss her, he wouldn’t hug her, he wouldn’t say hi to her if they passed each other in the hall.

Apparently that wasn’t enough because now Gerard seemed to think that the two of them were together. At least that’s how it had seemed when Gerard fled the instant she came near. He either couldn’t stand the sight of her, or he didn’t want to get in the way of her and Frank.

But Frank wanted him to get in the way. He wanted Gerard to just grab him and hold him while she was watching, that way he could hug Gerard back and maybe even force in a kiss. That would get the message through to her, but Gerard didn’t seem like he would ever do that.

It made Frank sick to think that Gerard didn’t know him well enough to see that he could never love someone like her. Especially not when he was already in love with someone dark, mysterious, and handsome.

Didn’t Gerard see that he was the one Frank cared about? He thought he showed it well enough…

Or maybe that was the problem.

Maybe he showed it too much and Gerard didn’t want it. Perhaps that was why he fled whenever the cheerleader came around. It was because he _wanted_ Frank to be with her so he would forget about him.

Bull.Shit.

Frank snorted and sat up, glaring at his covered window. 

That was bullshit. Gerard had started getting worse the very day that girl started creeping around them. Each time she grew bolder and came closer, Gerard slipped farther away. He’d even quit talking to him when he came over to hang out with him and Mikey...times when _she_ wasn’t even around.

He just locked himself in the bathroom and pretended to take a shower. 

Speaking of which, did he even realize how obvious it was that he _wasn’t_ in the bath? Just because his hair was wet didn’t mean he’d fooled anyone. The sound of water hitting a solid body was a lot different than the sound of water smashing into the plastic floor of the tub…

( ) ( ) ( )

They ate inside that day and Frank had successfully convinced his cheerleader stalker to stay away. He told her that he wanted to talk to Gerard, and that he couldn’t do that when she was around. When she’d asked why, Frank backed out and lied. He told her Gerard was shy and didn’t like to talk in front of people he didn’t really know.

Becky said she understood and kept her distance, choosing to glance at him “subtly” across the cafeteria. 

Frank felt a bit depressed, though, when Gerard didn’t comment on her absence.

In fact, Gerard didn’t seem to comment on anything. He was in his own little world, the expression on his face bouncing back and forth between happy and confused, angry and conflicted, back to happy, back to sad… 

Finally, Frank managed to catch Gerard’s eye.

“You’re acting strange today,” was all he could think to say.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got stuff on my mind. Don’t you ever have stuff on your mind?” His snotty answer and the irritated look left Frank speechless. Mikey was quick to fill in where Frank left off.

“Hopefully you’re thinking about your test next period, because Dad said if you get another F _he’s_ going to punch you.” 

“But an F is _good_ for me,” Gerard said with a put on smile, pulling out of his stupor long enough to make a joke. “It’s not an F-! Dad should be proud for me.” 

“Proud for you?” Mikey asked with a humorless chuckle. “That’s…no. That’s never going to happen.” Gerard laughed like he’d been told the funniest thing ever, but Frank didn’t see the humor.

“You know, if you’re having trouble in Chemistry, I could help you,” Frank offered. Gerard just looked at him and laughed.

“Says the boy who made a Screwdriver in the beaker on lab day.” At that, Frank giggled.

“Hey, I didn’t get caught until I was finished! And that’s only because the teacher saw the Vodka bottle on my way out of the room.”

“Can I ask you again what inspired you to do that?” Ray asked, grinning from ear to ear. Frank shrugged.

“You know, I can’t really say but I think— _fuck!_ ” Frank couldn’t stifle the whimper as the back of his head flared with pain after the corner of a plastic lunch tray was slammed into it after hurtling across the room. The tray clattered onto the floor, its sounds overshadowed by the eruption of laughter from a table in the corner. “God _damn_ ,” Frank hissed. “Every fucking day it’s the same damned thing!”

“Frank, just calm down,” Ray said, eyeing the enraged boy nervously. Frank growled but didn’t react any further to the attack, aside from clenching his hand into a tight fist.

“You okay?” Gerard asked, the compassion and sadness in his voice successfully ebbing some of Frank’s rage. “That sounded like it hurt you. You know…when it hit. It was loud…”

“I’ve had worse,” Frank said with a sigh, fighting the urge to rub the back of his head, not wanting to give the football team the satisfaction. He glanced over at Becky who was squirming in her seat, struggling with the urge to come to his unneeded rescue. He shook his head and her shoulders drooped.

Gerard saw their interaction and fell quiet.

“Leave it to the teachers to only see when we do something wrong,” Ray mumbled, meeting gazes with Gerard who nodded in agreement. 

“There’s only one way to solve that,” Mikey said, looking at Gerard out of the corner of his eye.

“What’s that?” Frank asked, suddenly staring at Gerard as well. The sudden influx of eyes on him made Gerard start to feel nervous.

“Beat the teachers _and_ those assholes with croquet mallets?” Gerard suggested. Mikey looked at him a little skeptically and scratched his chin.

“Well, I guess that might work,” he answered.

“What would you suggest then?” Gerard asked, raising his brow.

“Stop getting caught.” Gerard laughed slightly, but mostly pulled into himself. Getting caught, that was one thing he was starting to realize that he needed to be afraid of.

( ) ( ) ( )

His teacher had refused him at the end of the day, but Gerard wasn’t as upset about it as he thought he would be. He’d been given a kiss and sent home for the weekend, left to wonder what Barlow had planned for him after school on Monday.

“It’s a secret, Gerard, but I think you’re going to love it.” Gerard couldn’t help but succumb to the butterflies in his stomach as he wondered what it could be.

Gerard knew that it was important that he keep his spontaneous relationship a secret, but he couldn’t help the way his excitement and anticipation for Monday radiated off of him.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Mikey started as he and Gerard entered their home, “but you’re way too fuckin’ happy about something and I wanna know what it is. I feel left out.” 

“Don’t,” Gerard said, offering his younger brother a smile that he didn’t buy. “You don’t want to know. Trust me.” 

“I know that you haven’t been helping clean the art room the past couple of days,” Mikey said, watching almost sadly as Gerard’s shoulders stiffened as he turned back around from the doorway to his bedroom.

“What?” Gerard asked.

“You heard me,” Mikey mumbled, looking away towards the floor. 

“Well what do you think I’m doing then? You have to have some idea,” Gerard said, feeling cornered. What did Mikey know? How did Mikey know? It was common knowledge that the younger Way had a unique skill of breaking and entering without getting caught…had he broken into the art room and heard what was happening? 

Oh, God. What if he told Dad?

“Actually, I don’t. I don’t know what you’ve been doing, but you’re acting strange. It’s like you’re all normal one minute, and then the next you’re sad—”

“That’s n—”

“I’d say that was normal, but it’s not. You’re being a jerk to Frank—”

“—How am I—”

“Now you’re happy all of a sudden and you don’t want to tell me about it—”

“It’s not any of—”

“But you’re not _really_ happy, because if you were you’d tell me—”

“Mikey—”

“No, I don’t even want to know anymore.” Mikey shrugged his shoulders and slid out of the room, brushing past his brother who stared at him in mixed rage and horror.

“Then why act like you care!?” Gerard shouted after him. Mikey didn’t answer, he just disappeared into his room. “You piss me off!” Nothing.

Gerard exhaled sharply and slithered into his own room, glaring over his shoulder as if expecting Mikey to appear behind him. 

Who was Mikey to tell him that he wasn’t “really” happy? What the hell did he know? 

Nothing!

He and his teacher were fine, just fine—better than fine! They were _in love_ , and that’s what made him happy. That was something that neither Mikey nor Frank—or anyone else for that matter—would ever understand. They’d just freak out and try to tell him that he was being manipulated or used…

Well he’d thought about that, he’d thought about every possibility, and every time he and Mr. Barlow came together those fears were erased. Mikey would never understand that. He’d just see the technicalities because that’s how he was.

He’d just see Gerard fucking the art teacher, not Gerard being taken care of and comforted. 

That was fine—that was just fucking fine. Gerard didn’t need a brother, he had his teacher, and they were happy together. He wasn’t going to let anything come between them. Not Mikey, not Frank, and not some bleach-blonde cheerleader. 

“Gerard?” Mikey called from upstairs, sounding discouraged. “Gerard, I’m sorry.” Gerard listened to Mikey’s footsteps as he slunk down into his bedroom. “Don’t be mad at me…” The moment he requested it in that pathetic voice, Gerard’s anger dissipated. 

“It’s fine, Mikes. I’m over it.” Mikey came over to where Gerard stood facing his desk and put his head on the back of Gerard’s shoulder heavily. “What?” The head grew heavier. “What is it?” Gerard asked, friendly annoyance creeping into his voice.

“Frank wants me to ask you why you’re mad at him,” Mikey mumbled. 

“Tell Frank to ask me himself.”

“That’s what I said,” Mikey grumbled, barely audible as he spoke into his brother’s shoulder. He grunted loudly and pulled away, making himself stand up straighter. “But I agreed to ask, so… Gerard, why are you mad at Frank?” He asked the question in an oddly high-pitched, oddly girlish voice that made Gerard chuckle. “Is it because of his, like, cheerleader friend?” Mikey added on in the same girlish tone but with a preppy accent thrown in. 

“Kind of,” Gerard said, not sure why he was answering the question at all when it was obvious that Mikey was more interested in making a joke of the topic than pushing the issue. “I’m not really _mad_ at him though, just kind of annoyed.” Mikey remained silent. “I mean, what’s he doing around a girl like that anyway? She doesn’t like anything he likes! She doesn’t know _anything_ about him!”

“Yeah,” Mikey drawled. “That’s what I thought, too. She doesn’t really know him like we do.”

“She doesn’t _know_ him at all,” Gerard muttered, sulking. It was hard to get depressed or even angry about the topic with Mikey literally breathing down his neck, silently threatening to lighten the mood in any way possible if necessary. Because that was Mikey’s job, to keep the peace and maintain the sanity. “How is he…”

“How is he what, Gerard?” Mikey asked, moving to lean against Gerard’s desk so he could look his older brother in the eye.

“How is he…in love with her? I just don’t get it. I mean, if I could figure it out, I’d be happy for him, but I can’t. I try, but I _can’t_.”

“He doesn’t love her,” Mikey said, scrunching his face up in disgust and confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“I thought they were dating,” Gerard said, his face becoming a mirror of Mikey’s. “He’s not just doing it for the sex…?”

“Gerard,” Mikey stated firmly, his face becoming cautious. “They’re not even together—she’s just chasing him around and he’s too much of a pansy to tell her off.” 

“Oh,” Gerard said, furrowing his brow and glancing down at the floor. He didn’t know what to make of the news. Part of him wanted to rejoice, but the other part remained indifferent.

What did it matter if his Dark Infatuation was free from the clutches of the man-eater? He had his teacher now, and they had something together that Gerard wasn’t willing to jeopardize. 

So what if Frank was free? It wasn’t possible for Frank to give him the same sense of security that Barlow did. How could Frank possibly protect him if he wasn’t even capable of sticking up for himself? 

The same thing could be said back to him, however, and Gerard knew it. If _Gerard_ wasn’t capable of sticking up for himself, why would Frank ever consider being with him? So they could both get the shit beat out of them together without a fight?

It didn’t sound very romantic, though Gerard could see the beauty in an image of two weak boys holding each other close and shaking from the combined terror and pain flooding their bodies, the only comfort and escape being their arms wrapped tightly around one another…

Gerard was forcedly pulled from his thoughts as Mikey once again pushed his head onto his shoulder. He was about to say something—perhaps comparing Mikey to a cat, or to ask him why he was having mood swings like a girl—but Mikey spoke first.

“Gerard, I usually wouldn’t bother you about it, but I’m worried about you. I can tell that something isn’t right.”

“Why? Because I’m actually happy for a change?” Gerard snapped, feeling cornered again. He knew that it was essential that no one, not even Mikey, found out about him and his teacher…and he also knew that he was so weak as to spill his guts within minutes if he was asked enough times and pushed in the right places…Mikey knew every pressure point very, _very_ well.

Gerard knew he had to be careful.

“Well…that’s part of it.”

“I’m not allowed to be fucking happy?” Gerard growled defensively, pushing Mikey away. The dejected look his younger brother gave him made him calm again. That look reminded him that this was his younger brother, not a cop or another teacher. Mikey didn’t know what was going on, he wasn’t looking to cause trouble or pass judgment, he was just worried.

“But you’re not happy, Gerard! Not really. It’s like you’re forcing yourself to be, and I want to know why, but I’m _afraid_ to know because I know it’s going to be something bad…” Forcing himself? Gerard wasn’t forcing himself…

He was happy. 

He was _happy_. 

“I don’t want you to get hurt anymore, Gee,” Mikey said with so much sympathy in his eyes that it made Gerard’s heart break a little. “And I’m afraid that that’s exactly what’s going to happen, because that’s what _always_ happens. You freak out, you break down, and then you get really, really happy, and then…then you get worse.” Mikey jolted his eyes towards the floor before closing them tightly.

“Mikey,” Gerard started, trying to think of something to say that would actually keep his brother calm. There was nothing. “Trust me. It’s not as bad as you’re thinking it is.” He put a hand on Mikey’s shoulder and Mikey glanced at him with no relief. 

“So you didn’t join a suicide pact?”

“No!” Gerard replied angrily, furrowing his brow and pulling his hand back from Mikey’s shoulder. 

“Are you on drugs?”

“Not today,” Gerard answered stodgily, turning around and marching over to his bed where he sat down heavily. He glanced at Mikey who was scanning the floor, obviously thinking of more things to rule out.

“Oh, God,” he said suddenly, looking up from the floor with much horror…so much it looked fake. “You’re going to blow up the school.”

“I am not!” Gerard rebuked, huffing. Mikey’s face became vacant and he shrugged.

“Well, I don’t know what it could be then,” he said calmly, starting to make his way to the doorway. “Guess I have nothing to worry about.” Gerard watched him leave and listened to him walk up the stairs and across the floor above.

Mikey was going to kill him if he ever found out.


	4. My X-Rated Romance

By Monday, Gerard’s heart was so full of affection for his teacher that he thought it would burst. For a while, he’d been afraid of when the next fallout would be, when he’d begin to doubt Barlow and fear for his own emotional stability, but the days passed without any sadness. 

Just eagerness.

He was so excited about finding out what that special thing was that his teacher wanted to do that he, Gerard, was supposedly going to _love_.

The anticipation had him blinded all day. Even at lunch when the cheerleader began to cuddle Frank’s arm at the table, Gerard hadn’t reacted. Even when Frank forced her to relinquish his arm while making a face of disgust, Gerard had simply stared ahead at the brick wall and grinned vacantly.

It wasn’t that he didn’t hear the harassing calls that were being directed at him throughout the day, he just didn’t care to acknowledge them. What did it matter if a bunch of steroid-junkies called him a fag? Told him he looked exceptionally _queer_ that day? 

It didn’t matter, because Barlow was going to hold him at the end of the day and call him beautiful, tell him how talented he was, praise him and coddle him. With that to look forward to, nothing could beat him down.

He felt invincible, because not only was Barlow going to praise him, his _dad_ was going to be fucking proud at the end of the day because he’d managed not to get an F in chemistry. He’d got a fuckin’ B-! That shit was worthy of a spot to hang on the fridge!

His good mood got caught in his throat when he walked into the art room at the end of the day to find his teacher talking to some girl. It was a vicious pang of jealousy and possessiveness that hit him, though, not terror of being replaced.

Gerard didn’t like having his precious time invaded upon, didn’t like having to wait for what he’d been promised, but there he stood, in the doorway, for fifteen minutes while Barlow promised to help the girl build her portfolio the next day during his free period.

She was consoled, she left, passing Gerard a snotty, ill-tempered look.

“Sorry about that, Gerard,” Barlow said, still using his teaching-tone even though he immediately led Gerard into the art room’s closet after locking the classroom door. Gerard didn’t mind the abruptness, he was practically shaking with excitement. “I tried to get her to come in during her lunch period but she refused. I was afraid you’d get the wrong idea and I’d have to go chasing after you.”

“You’d chase after me?” Gerard asked, blushing lightly and biting his lower lip in a shy smile. Barlow grinned back, spurring Gerard to embrace him tightly and burry his face in his neck. His teacher was quick to hug back, slowly sliding his hands up Gerard’s body until meshing his fingers with his hair and lifting his chin so they could kiss briefly.

“You’re deserving of being chased after, Gerard,” Barlow said, caressing Gerard’s cheek gently and meeting his love struck gaze. “Hm, you’ve been acting different today.”

“I’m just happy,” Gerard said, tightening his arms around his teacher’s torso.

“I can see that,” Barlow said, chuckling and petting Gerard’s hair softly. “And what’s got you so happy?” Gerard blushed harder and he lowered his gaze, feeling like he was acting too much like a flustered schoolgirl but too caught up in the moment to care.

“You said you had something planned,” Gerard said quietly, practically writhing with curiosity. “I’m excited. I want to know what it is.” Barlow put his hands on Gerard’s shoulders and pushed him back a step, forcing the long embrace to end.

“Let’s look at your assignment first. You did finish it didn’t you?” Gerard’s face drooped slightly as he messed with his shoulder bag in order to reach inside to find his latest project. He guessed it was a good thing that his teacher showed concern for things beyond just getting him undressed. 

“It’s different from my usual things,” Gerard said self-consciously as he surrendered the project into Barlow’s hands. 

“Yeah,” Barlow said, his tone almost disapproving. Gerard sighed sadly and crept around the closet, not stopping until he was standing behind his teacher and not satisfied until he rested his chin on Barlow’s shoulder. “I can tell that you’re feeling better,” Barlow said, examining the small but vibrant painting of a lit city-scape, portrayed as if being viewed from a quickly moving car. The image was darker around the edges and then grew brighter and brighter as it neared the center—sucking the viewer in.

It was supposed to symbolize finding a light in the darkness.

“You don’t like it,” Gerard moaned, pushing his face against the back of Barlow’s neck. He began to nuzzle it gently, hoping to distract his teacher and initiate the rest of the plan before his artwork could ruin the mood any more.

“You can do better,” Barlow said, setting the painting down on the shelf to free his hand so he could stroke Gerard’s hair.

“I know,” Gerard sighed, his mood becoming heavy. He didn’t like rejection, and in this scenario he feared that it would lessen the affection given to him by his teacher. Gerard liked his art, but he didn’t want it to be the deciding factor in his relationships…He wanted to be seen as more than just a painter…be more to Barlow than just an exceptional student with low self-esteem and loose pants…

“I’ll take it for what it is, though,” Barlow said, turning around suddenly and wrapping his arms around Gerard’s waist securely. “Happiness isn’t a very deep emotion, is it?” Gerard shook his head against his teacher’s chest, even though his mind was spinning with Mikey’s words.

Was he really happy here, encased by his teacher’s arms in a dingy, paint-scented closet? Didn’t he fantasize about much cleaner places in much cleaner ways? Soft, warm bed sheets and an open window to let the smells of summer waft in?

But such fantasies, Gerard decided, were just that. Dreams. He didn’t deserve those things. He’d thrown his chances of that away when he first slit his wrists…when he first did _this_.

_This_ was what he deserved, _this_ was what he had…all he’d ever have, all he’d ever deserve. 

“What did you want…to try with me?” Gerard asked, trying to forget everything that was appearing in his mind. Barlow laughed quietly, moving his hands up so that they rested on either side of Gerard’s face, fluffing his hair about his face.

“Don’t you think you’re getting a little too excited, Gerard?” Gerard’s eyes darted to the floor as he felt his euphoria instantly dissipate. 

What does one call a person who constantly tries to initiate sex? 

A whore.

That’s what he was, and that’s all he’d ever be. That’s why he didn’t deserve warm sheets and the scents of summer—he deserved a locked closet with a paint-stained sheet as his skin’s only barrier from the cold, tile floor he’d allowed himself to collapse upon. 

“Gerard? You’re getting sad again…” Barlow tilted Gerard’s chin in a failed attempt to acquire eye contact. “Gerard.” Gerard looked up miserably. “What is it? Oh, Gerard, what’s wrong?” His voice shuddered with concern as he wiped a stray tear off of Gerard’s cheek with his thumb. “I can’t help if you don’t talk.” Gerard dropped his gaze again and took a step back, forcing Barlow to release his head—which he did, with little resistance. “You’re not happy at all. You’re miserable, aren’t you?” Barlow stepped closer to him, reaching out with his hands and grabbing Gerard’s hips. He pulled him close so their hips were touching, making Gerard gasp before he attempted to pull away.

Barlow wouldn’t let go.

“Please,” Gerard said, trying to keep his voice strong. “I can’t today.”

“You wanted to just a minute ago,” Barlow argued, his tone staying even so he didn’t sound like an irate child.

“Well I _can’t_ now,” Gerard whimpered, trying to back away but still being restrained. He felt panic begin to rise, but then he swallowed it back down.

What did he have to be afraid of? You couldn’t rape a whore. The whore always asks for it in the end…

Gerard sobbed and immediately covered his face with his hands, not wanting to see any more and not wanting to be seen. The hands securing his hips vanished almost instantly, leaving Gerard to collapse against the shelves and sink to the floor with his knees to his chest.

“Please don’t cry,” Barlow said, kneeling down in front of his student but otherwise keeping his hands to himself. “I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to. That wouldn’t help. I just want to help you, Gerard. That’s why I asked you what made you change your mind.” Gerard sniffed and took in a deep, shaking breath, hating himself for acting so weak, but too distressed to control himself any further.

“I don’t know,” Gerard sobbed, as if pleading for his answer to be accepted.

“You don’t know,” Barlow repeated, sounding unimpressed and more than irritated. It made Gerard nervous, and he knew exactly why. What he needed to say was that he _did_ know, but he wished he didn’t.

He knew he was terrified of Barlow tiring of him and pushing him away. He knew his self-esteem was boosted only by the words his teacher whispered into his ear. He knew that everything he was doing was wrong, that nothing could be said to justify it…

He knew…

“I don’t know why this is happening,” Gerard sobbed, lowering his hands and meeting his teacher’s gaze. The eyes that met his softened. 

“Why what’s happening?”

“Why I’m letting you do this to me!” Gerard shrieked, anger and betrayal coming through in his voice as well as sadness. “It scares me!”

“What scares you?” Barlow asked, using that tone that Gerard hated. That formal, lecturing tone.

“Not knowing what’s going to happen…” Gerard concluded, allowing himself to stare up at the ceiling in a vain attempt to stop his tears. 

“That’s what I wanted to show you today,” Barlow said in a less demeaning tone. “That not knowing isn’t always so unpleasant.” Gerard gasped and dropped his head, tears ceasing immediately when he felt Barlow’s hand force itself between his closed knees and come to rest on his groin. “Will you let me?”

“I just told you that I—I…” Gerard’s words morphed into an involuntary moan as Barlow began rubbing him roughly through his pants. 

“Will you let me?” He began rubbing harder, causing Gerard to unthinkingly spread his legs and buck against the hand. 

Gerard couldn’t fight it anymore. He nodded.

“I want you to say it.” Barlow stopped caressing and toyed with the buckle of Gerard’s belt. Gerard whined, feeling more than degraded and exceedingly desperate. 

“Yes, I’ll let you,” he gasped, being immediately rewarded as the hand went back to work, stroking him gently. Never in his life had Gerard felt as conflicted or on the edge as he did then. 

Consciously, he had to decide whether to be nauseated with himself for what he allowed to happen, or to force himself to fall madly in love with every new, strange sensation that he was being force-fed.

Barlow took Gerard’s length into his hand and began to pump it slowly, grinning wider each time he successfully extracted a moan or a whimper from the boy. The small whine of protest he emitted as all contact ceased was music to the teacher’s ears.

“What are you doing?” Gerard half panted, half moaned as his teacher began to loosen the tie of his uniform, 

“I need to borrow this,” his teacher said impishly. “You’ll see why,” he added before laugh. “Or…maybe you won’t.” Gerard began to giggle when the realization stuck him as the tie was lifted over his head, only to be wrapped securely over his eyes.

As he forced out the laugh, he felt tears come to the backs of his eyes, not enough to spill, but enough to be prominent—to remind him that what he was doing was wrong…

( ) ( ) ( )

Alarm bells were going off at a disturbing rate in Mikey’s head when Gerard came home, late as usual. He wasn’t set off by how hastily Gerard retreated into his basement bedroom, nor was he startled by the lack of attention he gave to the voice that called out to greet him, Ray’s and Frank’s.

It was the limp in his walk, and the awkwardly giddy way he laughed as he practically sprinted down the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the house and sounding like someone falling. 

“He’s getting weirder every day,” Ray stated bluntly. Mikey chuckled. Not because he took the statement as a joke, but because Ray didn’t even know the half of it.

“What’s he doing after school, anyway? Do you know?” Frank asked, looking at Mikey for answers. Mikey just shrugged.

“Getting answers out of Gerard is like…it’s like… _getting answers out of Gerard_ … He doesn’t tell me things.” Mikey’s tone more than hinted at his feelings of anguish towards his inability to communicate with the brother that he cared so much about.

There was a loud slam downstairs that immediately sent Mikey to his feet. His chest rose and fell heavily, betraying his horror even though his face remained stoic and eerily calm.

“Gerard?” He called, hurrying to the stairwell into the basement but not yet descending the stairs. Ray and Frank directly appeared behind him, more curious than afraid of what had caused the sound—Mikey could sense their near apathy.

He didn’t blame them. They didn’t live with Gerard, they didn’t _see_ him.

“Sorry!” Gerard called back, laughing in a way that made Mikey’s flesh crawl. Something just wasn’t right about it… It seemed genuine. 

“What the fuck are you doing down there?” Mikey asked, relaxing against the cool wall as his terror left him. The slam wasn’t the end result of a hanging…Gerard was…fine?

Fuck that. Gerard wasn’t fine. He’d never be fine.

“Messing with stuff,” Gerard called back, sounding like a five-year-old caught in some off-limits area of a house.

Mikey didn’t look convinced.

“Frank,” he said quietly, “go check on him.” Frank nodded and began descending the stairs, picking up on the seriousness that was hovering in the air around him. 

Frank slipped into Gerard’s room, feeling out of place even though he’d been there before. It wasn’t only the change in the atmosphere that he was reacting to, it was the new artwork that littered the place. Every wall had something _Gerard_ had made hanging on it. No posters anymore, just paintings and sketches. 

Realism, cartoons, abstracts, and simple shapes… The colours, the lines, the designs, all seemed to be drawing him into Gerard’s head. He didn’t like it in here anymore.

He hated it.

Scanning the room, he immediately saw what had caused the slam. 

Gerard’s new area to hang his artwork was the ceiling. Gerard had toppled his desk in an attempt to hang it. 

“I forgot that the one leg isn’t really attached,” Gerard said, giving Frank a strange smile. It looked weird for Gerard to be smiling because his bloodshot eyes and his reddened face indicated that he’d been crying.

Frank watched as Gerard set the desk back in place. As he worked, he looked sad. 

“You’ve been working on a lot of new stuff, I see,” Frank said, suddenly finding it hard to converse with the boy he knew he loved. This person didn’t seem like Gerard. He was different…

“Yeah,” Gerard said, sounding pleased. “I’ve—uh—got a new muse actually. I’m really inspired. It’s like…it’s like my hand…” As he spoke of it, he held his right hand out in front of him and shook it. “Just doesn’t wanna stop.” His pleased tone turned immediately to exhaustion. 

“So, what is this new muse?” Frank asked, moving closer to Gerard who seemed to be as suddenly awkward around him as he was around Gerard. “Is it a girl?” Frank asked without thinking…more than likely because that was the only thing on his mind.

To him, the new drawings all said the same things. They betrayed feelings of torment, sparks of hope, hints of passion and for some very, very odd, indescribable reason, they all made Frank think of sex…and he didn’t think it was just his hormones in control. 

“It’s not a girl, per se,” Gerard said, laughing slightly and offering Frank a shy look. “But I think it’s safe to say that I have someone now.”

Gerard hadn’t expected Frank’s face to fall when he delivered the news. It left him feeling confused…


	5. My Beautiful Romance

After Frank had gone back upstairs, Gerard was sure that he would have collapsed into tears again if his eyes hadn’t already been worked dry. 

At first, being blindfolded and unsuspecting had been fascinatingly erotic, but when the unforeseen touches led to an object other than Barlow being forced inside of his body, Gerard began to panic.

Physical pain didn’t make him cry that easily, not after being desensitized by constant blows to the face, stomach, and crotch at the hands of various athletes, but the pain Barlow inflicted—whether wittingly or not—had been so intense that he’d immediately begun to cry. His teacher didn’t seem to notice since the tie hid Gerard’s eyes and hungrily absorbed his tears.

“What is that?” Gerard begged to know as the unbearably thick object was forced deeper. Barlow must not have heard Gerard’s desperation or agony since he continued to force the thing another two inches deeper. “Oh, God,” Gerard had moaned. “What is it?” Barlow had to have mistaken his agony for ecstasy…that was the only reason Gerard could come up with for why Barlow didn’t tell him or stop the assault.

The only reason Gerard didn’t begin to lose his mind was because the next thing that fell upon him unexpectedly was having Barlow’s mouth suddenly close over his softening member. If that wasn’t the purest sign of affection, Gerard didn’t know what was.

For the time being up until his release, he was able to forget (though not completely) the pain of the intruding, unnamed, _unwanted_ object in his body.

Afterwards, he’d asked Barlow why he thought he’d like “making love” to some strange object instead of him. Barlow’s response was to ask if he did like it. Gerard lied and said he did. According to Barlow, there was no problem then, was there? Gerard had agreed and the conversation had dropped and been forgotten.

Gerard did everything in his power that day to make sure it stayed forgotten.

Having Frank come over and look so sad when Gerard told him he had somebody special forced him to realize that Frank probably had the most appropriate reaction, even though Frank didn’t know a thing about what was going on. 

Gerard knew that he should have demanded that his teacher take the thing out because it really _fucking hurt_ and he didn’t like it at all, rather than lying still and accepting it. The relationship was disturbing, and it should’ve made Gerard frown instead of grin.

The days that followed passed by calmly for Gerard, however. Especially since he’d requested that they only meet every other day, not daily. He said that his mother was getting suspicious about why he was staying late after school—which she was, but not seriously—and Barlow had agreed to the terms without any hesitation or argument. 

It didn’t hurt them to be apart, and it gave Gerard time to heal after each encounter—even if it was only physically. 

In a way, things were getting better… _were_ better. With Barlow as his distraction, nothing seemed to bother him anymore. He didn’t take it personally when he became the punching bag for the lacrosse team on one of his days away from his beloved teacher. He’d been wounded, yes, but not emotionally. 

The cuts and bruises gave Barlow something to fuss over, granting him more kisses than touches, and more sweet words than sex. Gerard liked that, some days, to have affection instead of lust. Sure, he was a teenager, but he wasn’t horny _all_ the time. He had other needs, too.

Barlow only seemed to get that some of the time…

During the days that passed, Gerard didn’t feel sad or even sickeningly pleased when the cheerleader bounced around Frank, constantly trying to touch him or give him a kiss, only to be rejected in the end.

It really was obvious that Frank didn’t love her. Why did she keep trying? In hopes that he’d change his mind? In hopes that he’d accept her out of pity?

She needed to grow up…Find something else to be passionate about other than pursuing a dead dream. 

Gerard had. He’d moved on and saw so many other beautiful things aside from the red of his blood as it spilled through his skin.

In the days that went by, Barlow taught him to feel various things. Forced him to experience exhaustion, taking him once and then nearly forcedly taking him again afterwards. Rendered him over-stimulated and practically sobbing from pleasure alone. Left him unsatisfied, trying to touch himself and having his hands pinned and told that he wasn’t allowed… 

So many different emotions, so many different days… Nothing was ever the same, not the actions and not the aftermath. The differences kept Gerard feeling alive.

The more he was with Barlow, the less he thought about the release of cutting, and as the days bled past he didn’t cry anymore. Yes, the relationship he was in was wrong, but who cared? Really?

As long as no one found out about it, everything would be okay. Spending every day hiding in his room painting and crying made everyone suspicious and ultimately led to even worse emotional breakdowns than the miniature ones that tried to spring up on him every day. Gerard was getting good at swallowing them down.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard was acting normal, and that scared Mikey shitless. He wasn’t acting like Normal Gerard normal, he was acting like Normal _Person_ normal.

He’d taken some of the artwork down off his walls and clogged the kitchen trashcan with the various things, irritating their dad. He started venturing out of his bedroom more, socializing for a change when Ray or Frank was over. He took showers more often, washed his hair more, listened to more music and spent less time writing his own. He didn’t look like he spent every free moment crying, he smiled genuinely, and he answered questions when you asked them…as long as you asked them right.

Mikey had tried to say something to their mother about it, but she just didn’t understand. She was blind to it, all of it. 

“Your brother’s finally letting go of all of the things that were bothering him. You should be happy for him!” That was all she had to say. Every time he’d bring it up she’d accuse him of being jealous of Gerard for one reason or another…

But that wasn’t true.

Gerard had in no way let go of his demons, he was ignoring them. Did their mother honestly think that Gerard’s new found focus on his schoolwork was a result of an attitude change? The A on his chemistry test and the B on his math test…no, no, no. Gerard wasn’t suddenly passionate about listening to his teacher and doing what he was told.

All Gerard was doing was using the work as a means of escape. He listened to his teachers in class because then he didn’t have to think about anything else. While information about balancing chemical equations was being imprinted on his mind, he didn’t ponder over his “new muse” that he’d told Frank about.

Who the hell was this muse anyway? Mikey wanted to know, because whoever it was was fucking up his brother’s head even worse. At least Gerard used to admit that he had problems. Now he was acting like he didn’t, and the ones that he did confess to having he said didn’t matter.

Mikey had a numbing feeling that there was a clue sitting right under his nose. Something that indicated who the muse was, who the culprit was…

He’d looked through so many different sketches and paintings, but none of them—aside from an eerie drawing of a girl dead at the foot of the school’s front steps—resembled anyone he knew. Hardly any of them were figure drawings…they were all freakishly awkward abstractions that hinted at deep feelings that Mikey couldn’t decode.

Why couldn’t Gerard just make things easy for a change? Just open up and say “Mikey, I’m in love with so-and-so”… It would make his job so much easier.

The truth of the matter was that Gerard didn’t want anyone to know who or—God forbid— _what_ that muse was. Something wasn’t right about the relationship. There was something so completely mangled and twisted about it that Gerard wouldn’t dare speak of it. 

Gerard admitted to drinking. Gerard admitted to abusing pills he’d been prescribed…admitted to cutting…admitted to being dangerously depressed…

He was so open about those terrible things, it scared Mikey to even start to consider what his brother could have fallen into that he was too ashamed to share. 

The list seemed endless, but none of the things seemed right. Murder, theft, assault, violence, terrorism…none of those things were Gerard. Not him in any form. He wasn’t an evil guy. 

He was a sad guy, a weak one who rarely if never put his own wellbeing first. He fell blindly into traps, let others hurt him and never told… 

Mikey buried his face in his hands as he sat at the kitchen table after dinner, still not having moved once the meal had ended. His mother had carried his plate away, asking jokingly if he was going to stay there all night.

It was midnight now, and Mikey didn’t feel like sleeping or moving. Something was wrong and it was like the whole world was about to come to a shuddering end if he didn’t do something soon to help his brother…but help his brother with _what?_ With what?

Was it already too late? Was he too far gone? 

He felt the tears slide past his eyes and drop onto his glasses’ lenses, but he ignored them. They didn’t matter. Mikey seldom cried from anything, because he spent so much time making sure that he felt nothing, but the sudden return of the action didn’t distract him. 

Gerard was disappearing, not saving himself and not putting up a fight. Why did no one else see it? Why? Were they all so blind? Everyone who had ever expressed concern for Gerard…Mom and Dad, Frank, Ray…anyone…did they even know him? Could they really say that they cared if they were so painfully blind to Gerard’s obvious agony?

Something was hurting him, and Mikey just wanted to make it stop. He wanted to protect his brother and help him heal… To do that, he just needed to know what was killing him.

Who was killing him… The muse? 

Mikey turned his head towards the trashcan visible in the kitchen. 

Who was the muse who inspired this mess?


	6. My Scandalous Romance

By their one month “anniversary”, not much about their lovemaking had changed. Barlow still insisted that he was teaching Gerard new things each time that they lay together on the stained sheet that was only washed every other week, and Gerard still had himself convinced that their meetings meant more than the lessons in feeling. 

For Gerard, every experience pulled him closer to his teacher. He loved him by the end of the second week, and he was obsessed with him by the end of the month. He wanted nothing more than for Barlow to own him, possess him, _claim_ him as his own. He wanted their relationship to be something flaunted for all to see, but he still knew better than to ever tell anyone.

He used to not want to tell because he thought that the relationship was something to be ashamed of, but now…a month in…he knew better. It was just the matter of legality holding him back—holding _them_ back. 

Barlow loved him, but he had to hide that love because some unsympathetic person made a law that said what he felt was not acceptable—wrong. 

But that person was wrong. There was nothing wrong with _this_. No, _this_ was beautiful.

Gerard was literally screaming in ecstasy as his teacher penetrated him, his shouts muffled only when Barlow kissed him. Every touch was fulfilling every one of Gerard’s needs. It was gentle lovemaking with more than enough kisses and kind words poured in between the thrusts.

It was Gerard’s favorite way, the way that made him feel appreciated, loved, and cared about, but something was missing from it. Something that had been in the back of Gerard’s mind for days. 

Barlow was inside of him, but he never filled him. Never completely. The condoms got in the way. Gerard began to realize that what he wanted more than ever was to feel himself being filled with the warmth, at any cost. He was free of disease, and he had good reason to believe that Barlow was as well. There was no reason for protection…there wasn’t any danger.

“Take it off,” Gerard pleaded through a straggled moan. Barlow panted and lifted his head to look into Gerard’s lidded eyes.

“What?” He asked, kissing the corner of Gerard’s mouth.

“Th-the condom,” Gerard pleaded with no shame. “Take—take it off.”

“No,” Barlow answered bluntly, lifting himself up and staring down at Gerard with a mix of confusion and disbelief. 

“I don’t want it!” Gerard argued, moaning loudly and arching his back off of the floor.

“No, Gerard,” Barlow repeated, sounding agitated. 

“Please,” Gerard gasped as his spot was hit. The gasp turned to a very vocal moan and a series of loud pants. “I want to feel you,” he drawled through his euphoria, eyes fluttering as he felt his orgasm draw near. Barlow chuckled.

“It sounds to me like you can.” He rammed Gerard’s prostate, receiving an exceedingly loud moan in response as Gerard fisted his hands in the sheet. “Perfectly.” Gerard lost the ability to speak then, forming only whimpers, small shrieks, and moans as he rode out his orgasm, rocking his hips against his teacher’s.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard straightened his tie with one hand and stuffed the sandwich bag that contained the soiled condom into his shoulder bag with the other, staring at his teacher as he finished tying his shoes.

“You’ve got a strange look on your face,” Barlow said, meeting Gerard’s eyes as he stood up. “What are you thinking about?” Gerard started to smile and looked away towards the closet door. “Hm? Let’s hear it.” Gerard giggled softly and shook his head, looking towards the floor.

“I just…I’m so happy.” He looked up again and then threw himself into Barlow’s arms. “I love you so much,” he mumbled against his teacher’s chest, melting into the hands that began to caress his back.

“Didn’t catch that, Gerard,” Barlow said with a soft laugh, not understanding the muffled words spoken into his chest. Gerard giggled and nuzzled Barlow’s chest happily. “Care to say it again?”

Gerard pulled away so he could kiss Barlow’s chin before bounding towards the closet door and opening it. He kept his eyes trained on his teachers and held his lower lip firmly between his teeth impishly. 

Barlow smiled and followed him out of the cramped, humid room into the chill of the spacious classroom. 

“I said I love you,” Gerard repeated softly as he slowly slipped towards the classroom door, preparing to leave because he’d stayed too long already. He glanced away shyly and put his hand on the doorknob.

Therefore, he didn’t see Barlow’s face turn grave.

“Gerard,” he said firmly. Gerard looked up, not picking up on the change of tone. “We have to talk about—”

“No,” Gerard said, drawing out the word and ending it with a laugh. “No assignments today. I have to study for a chemistry test tomorrow.” He toyed with the doorknob, but didn’t twist it.

“Chemistry test?” Barlow asked, furrowing his brow and then relaxing it as he laughed. “I thought you weren’t the studying type.”

“Well,” Gerard said, tilting his head to the side. “I wasn’t before, but now I am.” He darted his gaze back up and smiled widely. The way he blinked, slowly with eyes full of affection and adoration, reminded Barlow of the issue at hand.

“Gerard, we need to talk about this…what’s going on between us, because I think that you’re not fully understanding what this is to _me_.” Gerard started to blush and looked away again.

“Aw,” he said, expecting more affectionate words. It practically killed him that he didn’t have time to stay and listen. “Later, John. I have to go home.” Gerard didn’t understand why Barlow’s face took on an irate expression when he’d used Barlow’s first name. He assumed that it was because he wasn’t used to students calling him by it. 

He wasn’t worried.

“Gerard, we need to talk.”

“I _can’t_ ,” Gerard said playfully, opening the door and killing the conversation. Barlow never said much when the door was open. “Monday we’ll talk about it,” he said. “Since it’s Friday and all.” He waved his hand gently as he backed into the hall, pulling the door shut behind him. Barlow always left the building so late…Gerard felt bad for him for having to spend so much time away from his home.

Gerard turned to walk down the hall, but immediately slammed into someone else. He gasped in reaction, a combination of surprise and fear. 

His heart skipped a beat when he realized the person he’d bumped into was Frank.

“F-Frank!” Gerard stammered. “What…what are you doing here so late?” Frank was staring at him with wide eyes and a slacked jaw. “What?” Frank’s eyes turned to the art room door and then back to Gerard who tightened his grip on the strap of his shoulder bag. “What!? I told you I was helping clean the art room! What’s your problem?” Gerard became frantic when Frank didn’t respond.

“No you’re not,” Frank said with audible horror. His eyes grew wider and began to dart rapidly from Gerard to the door. “I _heard_ you. You were _not_ cleaning the art room.”

“It’s none of your business!” Gerard said, his demeanor becoming defensive. He pushed past Frank and continued down the hall, wanting to get away from the door before Barlow heard or saw. 

Frank chased him.

_Frank chased him._ But it was too late this time. Gerard was already gone.

“You’re…you’re fuckin’…you’re _sleeping_ with him!” Frank shouted when they got out of the building and Gerard finally slowed. “That’s why you’ve been acting so fucked up lately!”

“It’s none of your business, Frank,” Gerard growled, wanting Frank out of his sight. Leave it to Frank to show up now that all of his pain was gone. Where had he been when he’d been at his worst? Off with that cheerleader he didn’t have the guts to push away.

She was gone now, though. Gerard hadn’t seen her near Frank in over a week. The idea didn’t bring him any satisfaction.

No, no satisfaction or pleasure at all… _None…_

Where had Frank been when the relationship with Barlow first started? When he’d really been conflicted and terrified… 

Nowhere to be seen… Frank only came around to mess things up, and Gerard didn’t want to let that happen.

“Gerard, how long have you been doing this?” Frank asked, sounding desperate and Gerard didn’t care to know why. What did Frank care who he fucked? It was _none of his business._

“Does it matter!?” Gerard walked down the street at the quickest pace he could without running. Frank, with his short legs, had to run to keep up.

“Gerard, what are you—would you slow down? Please! Just wait!” He continued trying to talk and Gerard toned him out as best as he could. Why now? Why when he was finally so happy? It made him want to cry, and he hadn’t cried in weeks. “Gerard, please! Tell me why you’re doing this!”

“Leave me alone…”

“No!” Frank called back.

“Why not?” Gerard asked, trying to keep his tone even. He couldn’t afford to be weak now.

“Because I care about you! I’m worried!”

“You don’t care about me,” Gerard thought out loud, remembering all of the times when he’d been pleading for help and no one had done a thing. No one but Barlow…

“Gerard, I…Gerard, I love you—I _do_ care!” Gerard stopped walking and whipped around, giving Frank a ferocious glare. That when Frank realized that every one of them was in over his head.

“You don’t _love_ me! You just say that because you want to show up and be the hero! Well you’re too late, Frank! I don’t need your help anymore! You should have done something before! If you cared, you would have done something then! You just want to take the credit for what _he’s_ done for me!”

“Gerard, that’s not true!” Frank protested. “I did care! I just—”

“Don’t lie to me!” Gerard shouted, eyes filling with hate. “I’m happy with him! He takes care of me! You’ve just come to fuck everything up for me!”

“Gerard, it isn’t right!”

“Shut up!” Gerard shrieked, his voice cracking with the intensity of his volume. He turned then, and began running towards his house. Frank began to chase after him once again.

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey jolted to his feet as the front door swung open and then slammed hard enough for the dishes on the counter in the kitchen to shake. Gerard was home, and he stomped down the stairs—at least halfway—towards his bedroom.

“Gerard?” Mikey called cautiously, expecting this eminent fallout but still unprepared for it. 

There was a shaking at the doorknob of the front door, and then a series of frantic knocks.

“Gerard!” That was Frank’s voice, and he sounded worried. Mikey started towards the door, preparing to open it when Gerard pounced on him, bounding back up the steps.

“Don’t you dare let him in here!” Gerard shouted, pushing Mikey’s shoulder hard enough to make him stumble against the wall. 

“Gerard, what happened?” Mikey asked nervously, terrified of the bloodthirsty look his older brother had acquired. He’d been expecting Gerard to come home in tears one day, not trying to draw blood. 

Frank kept knocking at the door, obviously at a loss for what else to do. 

Mikey glanced at the door, his offense setting Gerard off. 

Gerard struck him hard across the face, setting off Mikey’s balance and causing him to stumble towards the basement steps. He tangled in his own limbs as he attempted to catch himself, sending him painfully down the first half of the stairs headfirst before he caught himself and stilled. His body was wracked with shivers as he stared at the basement floor. 

What could have been his demise…

He pulled in several violently shaking breaths before attempting to pull himself onto a single step. When he tried to stand his legs were shaking too hard to support his weight, so he remained frozen at the middle of the staircase, trying to slow his breathing and comprehend what had happened.

He passed a sad and anxious look over his shoulder at his brother who stood at the top of the stairs, looking deeply disturbed and with all traces of his previous rage gone.

“Mikey,” he gasped, taking a step down the staircase. “Are…are you okay? I’m sorry…” Mikey couldn’t say anything. “Mikey, he… I panicked—I—I…I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He began to blink rapidly, tears falling from his eyes and his body beginning to tremble the way Mikey’s was.

“I’m fine, Gerard,” Mikey said in a meek, unconvincing voice as he pulled himself onto his shaking legs. He started up the steps, his right knee giving out after he’d tackled three, but he caught himself before falling again and made it to the top. “Just go relax. I’m gonna…I’m gonna get some fresh air—air..gonna go out,” Mikey mumbled, stumbling past Gerard and attempting to unlock the door with hands that were shaking horribly.

Gerard didn’t speak a word of protest, he just watched Mikey leave. 

“Mikey?” Frank asked when Mikey stumbled out of the house and closed the door behind him. Mikey had his arms wrapped protectively around his chest and his head down, looking like someone sheltering himself from the cold even though it was relatively warm out. “Mikey, what’s wrong?” Frank asked when Mikey walked past him without seeing him. He followed him down the sidewalk and down two blocks before successfully getting Mikey to reply to him. “I heard something fall when I was outside. What happened?”

“Gerard just tripped on the stairs, that’s all,” Mikey said. Frank didn’t believe him for a second, but he let Mikey lie. Let Mikey protect his brother by acting like he hadn’t been hurt by him somehow. Let him protect Gerard, because at least Mikey was someone they could trust. “What happened?” Mikey finally lifted his head to see where he was going. “What happened at the school?” He repeated when Frank didn’t answer.

“I don’t even know how to say this,” Frank mumbled, his voice starting to shake. 

“Just say it. We don’t have time right now…”

“The reason he’s been at school so late,” Frank said before drawing in a deep breath, “the thing that’s had him acting so weird lately…he’s…Mikey, I think he’s been sleeping with our art teacher.” Mikey stopped walking and turned his head to look at Frank, his expression perplexed.

“What?” Frank shook his head and shrugged.

“I waited after school today to see what was taking him so long to leave…He was in the art room talking to Mr. Barlow…when he came out he was all…all flushed and—and sweaty…He smelled like sex.” Mikey closed his eyes against the words, trying to shut them out, realizing that it was all so obvious.

All of the art work…

All of the new pictures…

It was the teacher.

The muse was the teacher. How had not seen it? It had been _right there_.

“Did you tell him you knew?” Mikey asked, beginning to walk again.

“Yeah,” Frank said, regretting having done it. “He lost it. He got so angry.”

“He knows it’s wrong,” Mikey said, wiping his nose with his hand and refusing to let Frank look at his face, constantly turning his head away.

“He looked so _happy_ though,” Frank said. “When he first came out of the room, before he saw me, he was on cloud-fucking-nine. I don’t think Mr. Barlow was involved at the beginning. Gerard was so upset before…”

“He’s upset now!” Mikey shouted, looking to Frank and glaring through the tears in his eyes. “Can’t you fucking see it? He’s not happy at all! He’s miserable!”

“No, Mikey,” Frank said with a cautious tone, “he’s not. You didn’t see him—”

“You _don’t_ see him! I live with him! I see him all the time! Maybe he was happy for those two seconds, but the instant he would have come home he’d bury himself in his schoolwork so he wouldn’t have to think about it anymore! That’s all he does!” Mikey scrubbed at his face with his hands and then shook his head. “What else happened? What did he tell you?”

Frank looked to the sidewalk and sighed.

“Mikey, would you kill me if I told you that…that I have… _feelings_ for Gerard?”

“Maybe a month ago I would have cared,” Mikey said, trying to calm himself so he could think. His head was too crowded with feelings and questions. He needed to clear some space for level thought…so he could figure out what the next step should be. “I don’t think that really matters right now. I don’t think there’s any more damage that can be done.” Frank sighed, keying in to Mikey’s thoughts.

A month ago, Gerard had been desperately crusading for some sort of attention. Frank, whether he had feelings or not, had missed the signal and Gerard had moved on to someone else. Unfortunately, Mr. Barlow had seen that flare and taken advantage of it.

Why he thought he had the right to fuck with someone as sensitive, self-conscious, and naïve as Gerard was beyond Frank’s level of comprehension. But he would pay for the damage he’d done. Somehow, some day, he would suffer for the way he made Gerard lose control.

“So you told Gerard how you felt?” Mikey asked slowly. 

“It probably wasn’t the best idea either…”

“How did he react?”

“Didn’t believe me,” Frank answered sadly. “He said that I was too late and that it was obvious that I was lying because I never said anything before.”

“Why _didn’t_ you say anything before?” Mikey snapped, as if he somehow thought that that would have prevented what happened.

“I thought he had enough problems,” Frank said with a sigh. “God, it’s my fault.” Frank pressed his hands to his face and groaned. Mikey didn’t respond to him. “I should’ve done more when I noticed how upset he got about Becky…”

“Who?”

“The cheerleader…” Frank said with a sigh. “He was so upset when he saw me with her. I knew how he felt but I didn’t react. I didn’t want to…It’s bullshit. I was scared to fucking death. I didn’t want to mess him up even more, because that’s all I’m good at. Screwing shit up…” They carried on several more blocks in silence before Frank spoke again. “Are you gonna tell your parents about…about all this when they get home?”

“I…I guess,” Mikey said, furrowing his brow. “That’s the right thing to do, isn’t it? I mean…It’s illegal, isn’t it? Teachers aren’t allowed to…to do that to their students. Mom and Dad would get involved and make him stop…Right?”

“Yeah,” Frank said, staring ahead of him. “Yeah, yeah. They’d get a lawyer…right? Get that guy away from him.”

“Yeah…”

The walk ended at Frank’s house where they split paths. Frank made it two steps into his house before collapsing to the floor and starting to shake. 

He was worried for Gerard. A thousand things could have happened to him in the past month. Even though he had looked happy, who was to say that he hadn’t been being tortured in that room? What if things were happening to him that he didn’t like? Would he have it in him to ask Mr. Barlow to stop? Would Mr. Barlow listen if he did ask?

What had he let Mr. Barlow do? Was Barlow rough with him? Mean to him? How much did he lie to get Gerard to do what he wanted? What did they say to each other when it was happening?

Frank pulled into himself and began to sob. He could have prevented this. He knew that he could have…somehow. There had to have been a way…

( ) ( ) ( )

“I’ll kill myself if you tell Mom and Dad,” Gerard said the instant Mikey walked into the house. Tears immediately appeared in Mikey’s eyes, the words rendering him immobile. He knew the threat was true. 

Gerard reached out and touched his younger brother’s bruised cheek gently. When Mikey didn’t flinch, Gerard moved closer to him and wrapped his arms around his brother’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry I hit you,” Gerard said sincerely. Mikey didn’t speak, but he leaned further into the embrace, pressing his forehead into the crook of Gerard’s neck. “I’m just…I’m just freaking out, you know?” 

“I just want to help,” Mikey whispered before starting to sob.

“I don’t need help. I’m fine…” Mikey shook his head against Gerard’s shoulder and sighed in agony.

Footsteps drew towards them and Gerard averted his gaze from the top of Mikey’s head to glance at his father who had appeared and was looking at them with confusion etched on his face.


	7. My Miserable Romance

Gerard woke up on Monday with a headache to accompany his constant terror. Mikey was sleeping next to him in the bed, since Mikey seldom left him alone over the course of the weekend, and didn’t stir as Gerard slipped past him to get up.

Mikey hadn’t said anything, literally, after their dad had caught them embracing in the hallway to the basement. He hadn’t said a single word to anyone. That, in combination with his new habit of following his older brother around the house, had their parents tipped off that something was wrong. Something beyond the slowly fading bruise on Mikey’s cheek.

It was so hard to think with Mikey constantly around, staring at him with large, sad eyes. Those eyes kept saying the same things over and over. 

Please let me tell Mom. Please let me tell Dad… I just want to help. Just let me help. Please let me tell someone. Please? Please? Please?

It was amazing how much people wanted to get involved with him once he was finally happy. They could have probably spit on him when he was suffering, but now that he was happy they wanted to get involved and tear him back down. It broke his heart.

Gerard got dressed and then shook Mikey’s shoulder, waking him manually since he had shut off the alarm after having woken up early. Mikey turned onto his back to look at him, eyes tired but still depressed.

“Time for school, Mikes,” Gerard said in a soft voice.

Mikey didn’t say anything, just blinked a few times and sucked in his lower lip, looking like he wanted to cry but wasn’t allowing himself the luxury. 

“Gerard?” Mikey said softly, his voice cracking a little. Gerard sat down beside him on the bed and stared at the floor. 

Mikey, unlike Frank, had been trying to get involved from the very beginning. He’d tried to help, but there was nothing he could have done to help the issue. Gerard wanted physical affection, love, passion, and attention. He couldn’t get that from Mikey, and it would have been unfair to penalize him for that. Applying that logic, Gerard understood that he had no right to ignore anything Mikey had to say. 

“Gerard, why are you doing this?” Mikey asked as he began to sit up, his eyes trained on Gerard’s turned face.

“I love him,” Gerard responded softly. “That’s all that there is to it.” 

“Does he love you back?” Mikey asked, no judgment or criticism in his voice. Mikey sounded as if he really was concerned, and not just about age differences or legality issues. 

“I think so,” Gerard said in a whisper.

“Does he say it?” Mikey leaned over and placed his head on Gerard’s shoulder heavily. Gerard thought before answering, trying to remember the time Barlow had said it…

Then he realized that Barlow never had.

“He doesn’t have to,” Gerard answered, his tone becoming defensive without his control. “He _shows_ me.”

“Sex isn’t love,” Mikey muttered. “There’s a difference when the person actually cares about you.”

“How would you know?” Gerard rebuked, lip curling in frustration. “You’ve never been with anyone before, and I _have_. You think I don’t know what it’s like to get fucked by someone who doesn’t love you? They just make you hurt. He doesn’t do that to me!”

“You know that I’m just worried, right?” Mikey said in a trembling voice, responding to Gerard’s tone instead of his words. It was six-thirty in the morning and he’d already made Mikey cry. “I only want to help, I don’t want to make you unhappy, Gerard.” Mikey wiped his nose on the back of his hand and darted his eyes from Gerard’s to the floor. “If…If being with him makes you happy, then…then I won’t get involved. But if—if he hurts you, I’m going to…I’ll—I’ll…”

“I know,” Gerard said, pulling Mikey into a hug. The conversation ended there, with Mikey’s silent tears drying on his face as he nuzzled his older brother’s shoulder.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard had been certain that if he made it through lunch okay, he’d survive the remainder of the day. He and Barlow had shared many glances during his art class, all leading up to what Gerard hoped to be a romantic encounter later in the day.

To even be considering sex after being found out just days before seemed like a long stretch, but alas, Gerard was addicted to Barlow, and Barlow seemed to feel the same. Mikey had agreed not to say anything, no one would believe Frank if he told, and Barlow knew nothing about the incident—there was no reason for things to not occur as usual…

But looking at Frank all lunch period long was more difficult than Gerard had imagined. 

It wasn’t the fact that Frank knew about him that was making it difficult for Gerard to sit still at the table, it was the confession he’d made after he had discovered the truth.

Frank had told him that he loved him… Frank, the boy Gerard had once longed to touch, finally said that he loved him back…

But it was Frank, this time, who had waited too long. _Gerard_ was gone now, and Frank had been too slow to swallow his fear and take a step. Now, he never had a chance with Gerard Way, because someone who cared a hell of a lot more had been brave enough to act. 

It made Gerard feel a little bit special, having the ability to break someone’s heart the way that so many had broken his.

Despite the small spark of power surging in Gerard’s veins, he was still forced to deal with the strange, indescribable feeling in his guts when he and Frank accidentally locked gazes. (Accidentally on Gerard’s part, Frank insistently tried to catch his eye.)

The feeling…It was like he was _happy_ that Frank admitted to caring about him, like it meant something to him when he _knew_ it didn’t. Not anymore, at least. Not now that he had Barlow to take care of him…

He didn’t like that good, pleased feeling he had. He wanted it to go away. Deep down, he was afraid that Barlow would sense it and reject him for having it.

“You’re happy he loves you, Gerard? Well, I guess that means you must love him, too. I don’t want to get in your way, so I guess we’ll just have to stop seeing each other…” Gerard cringed at the thought. Just imagining it was making him start to panic…

Today, he was going to show Barlow just how much he cared. He was going to be obedient, do everything he was told—be quieter, lay stiller—and lap up the affection that was his reward.

The blissful look that was on Gerard’s face made Mikey sick to his stomach. Of his entire lunch, he’d only taken one bite—making that one bite of food being his only nourishment in a day and a half—and he still felt that he’d be sick.

He knew _exactly_ what Gerard was thinking about, and by the looks of it so did Frank… They passed each other wary glances and then sighed, almost in unison. They’d agreed to do nothing… _for the moment_.

Let Gerard continue on his torture for a few more days, at least until thoughts of suicide had drained from his head. Let himself get intoxicated on his forbidden romance, forget his pains for a little while, drown himself in schoolwork and try not to cry at night…just for a day or two more.

By that time, Mikey would have a plan. He and Frank would come up with _something_ by then. Something that didn’t involve Gerard being put on lock down in a suicide-watch cell in a hospital ward or something… In all honesty, Mikey would rather Gerard torture himself than be forced to suffer the indignity of twenty-four hour, shameless, insensitive surveillance that would eminently cause his death.

Yeah, Gerard knew how to behave. If they stuck him in a psychiatric ward for suicide threats, he’d play their game, mellow out after a couple of days, be released, and kill himself within an hour of returning from the trauma of being institutionalized. 

Then, if he killed himself, it would be Mikey’s fault…and he could never live with that—facing each day knowing that he’d killed his big brother.

( ) ( ) ( )

It was unusual to be kissing outside of the art room closet, but Gerard had had no other choice. For the sake of his sanity, he’d had to close Barlow’s mouth—he’d had to lock their lips together.

“I love you so much,” Gerard had said as he’d nuzzled his teacher’s shoulder. Barlow had grabbed him by his forearms and pushed him back a step.

“Gerard,” Barlow had said firmly, narrowing his eyes and glaring into Gerard’s deep, affectionate ones. “You can’t—” Gerard had thrown himself onto Barlow then, forcing their mouths together and invading his teacher’s with his tongue.

For a while, Barlow kept trying to push him back, grunting in protest and trying to break off the kiss with no avail. Gerard counteracted all of his moves, forcing their hips together when Barlow tried to push him back, making their tongues entwine when his teacher tried to form words.

It wasn’t long before he felt Barlow grow hard from the friction of Gerard rutting against him. Shortly after that, he became enraptured in the kiss and he pulled Gerard closer, caressing his hips and petting his hair. 

“Just take me here,” Gerard said before securing his hands in the front of Barlow’s shirt and falling backwards onto the desk behind them when Barlow attempted to pull him towards the closet. “It’s okay. No one will look.”

“No, Gerard,” Barlow said, smirking and laughing, fully engrossed in Gerard’s suddenly passionate attitude. 

“Please?” Gerard purred, pursing his lips and thrusting his hips up against Barlow’s and grinding them together gently. It took a few more minutes of kissing, chuckling, and persuading, but Gerard got his way.

“Okay, but wait,” Barlow said, starting to pull away. “I have to get the—”

“No,” Gerard moaned, wrapping his legs around Barlow’s waist and holding him securely. 

“Gerard…”

“No,” he whined again, sounding like a frustrated child. 

“Okay, but it’s going to hurt,” Barlow said in a tone suggesting that he believed the threat of pain was enough to change Gerard’s mind.

“It doesn’t have to,” Gerard said, sitting up on the desk and smirking as he began to undo Barlow’s belt before taking his teacher’s member into his hand and ducking his head down to lick it slowly. 

He kept his eyes trained on his teacher’s, seeking out the sparks of affection that erupted whenever he did something with his tongue that pleased the older man. As he took the length, coating it as best he could with saliva, Gerard fumbled with his clothes, slipping off his shoes and removing his pants and boxers with a little help from Barlow.

Then he was laying back on the desk, trying to steady his breaths as Barlow pushed slowly into him, taking care and consideration—trying not to make it hurt. It still did, but Gerard tried his best not to show it. 

After three, slow thrusts, Barlow stopped since the only sounds he’d extracted from his subtly shaking lover were muffled whimpers.

“This isn’t working,” he said, stroking Gerard’s sweaty hair. “I’m going to go get the—”

“No!” Gerard shouted, immediately tossing his arms around Barlow’s shoulders and keeping him virtually trapped. “You’re not leaving me… No.” Barlow grumbled and tried to push Gerard down against the desk with no avail. Gerard was clinging to him for life, kissing his neck and nuzzling his collarbone.

“I just want to get some—”

“No,” Gerard protested. “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you to leave me.”

“I’d come back!” Barlow whispered harshly, finally prying Gerard off of him and attempting to pull out of him. 

“Don’t,” Gerard breathed, using his legs this time to keep their bodies attached. “I want it this way. It feels good.” Barlow sighed in resignation and began to move again, his practically brutal thrust portraying his level of frustration. 

He became gentler when tears started to fall from Gerard’s eyes, even though Gerard insisted that they weren’t related to the pain.

“I don’t like it when you’re sad, Gerard,” Barlow said, caressing Gerard’s cheek. Gerard didn’t answer, he just thrust into the hand that was pumping him slowly, trying to block out conscious thought with the pleasure.

_You_ do _like it when I’m sad,_ Gerard tried not to think. _That’s when you like me best. It’s the only time you love me…_

After all, why else would Barlow try to break his heart the instant it was finally gathered into place?

( ) ( ) ( )

Unable to face Mikey’s pathetic, dejected looks, Gerard found comfort in wandering the school grounds despite the ever-present pain he was in. He avoided the football field, knowing that practice was being held there as well as in the gymnasium. 

The soccer fields, however, were abandoned, leaving their tree-encased edges the perfect place for Gerard to disappear. He tried to keep walking, finding the ability to place a great deal of concentration on each step he took and block out his thoughts; however, as he neared the back of the metal bleachers, he allowed himself to sink to the ground—his mind on much more important things than getting mud or grass stains on his uniform.

He buried his head in his hands and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the wind in the trees and the grasses, but not hearing them. All he could interpret was his own panicking thoughts. 

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get Barlow to admit any feelings for him. The only affection he got seemed to be physical… Sex, kisses, hugs…touches.

And not only did he have that to worry about, he also had to guard his own feelings towards Frank. As much as he hated to admit it, there were still feelings there—he still felt euphoric when the cheerleader disappeared, still wanted to grin when he thought about how Frank had told him that he loved him—even though he hadn’t reacted so well when Frank had confessed it…

And, the worst thing of all, he now had Mikey getting involved. Sure, Mikey pretended like he was going to sit quietly on the sidelines, but Gerard knew him better than that. He’d wait until he thought Gerard wouldn’t suspect him and then spring into action.

The only thing Gerard could do to prevent that was to stay suspicious of him forever…

Who wanted to live like that? Live in fear like that…forever?

_So leave Barlow, kiss Frank, and let Mikey feel like he saved the day_ , Gerard thought bitterly. There was another thought in his mind, one that may have dealt with approval of the idea, all thought was cut short when a hand wrapped around his mouth from behind and another seized his wrists as he instinctively went to pull the hand away.

“Hey, fag. We’ve got a job for you,” a sickening voice drawled. Gerard jerked his head, trying to get free of the hands and trying to part his lips in order to bite, but not succeeding.

Breaking free of the initial shock, Gerard was able to jolt back his elbow, surprising his attacker as he jabbed him in the ribs, and jolted to his feet. He whipped around, spitting out obscenities to look intimidating, the way a cat fluffs up to feel bigger. 

The assailant, of course, was a jock—this one a brunette off of the lacrosse team. Gerard felt a pang of heartache when he realized that this was the first time he’d ever had a problem with this boy. It was like he attracted new enemies each day without ever trying…

“Where do you think you’re going?” The jock spat, rubbing at his ribcage absently with one hand as he stood up from the grass. Obviously, Gerard noted, he had crawled under the bleachers from the gap at the front in order sneak up on him.

“Yeah,” came a second, more familiar voice from behind Gerard’s back. Gerard whipped his head around, catching a glimpse of his main rival—a blonde snob with a hooked nose. “Where do you think you’re going?” From the blackness of Hell, two more jocks made their appearance hastily, eagerly encasing their prey and leaving him trapped between them.

Gerard began to tremble, knowing that he would fight and that he would lose. 

“You look pretty today,” one of the four scoffed. “Is that eye shadow you have on?” The group started to cackle and Gerard nervously and aggressively bounced his gaze back and forth between them all. 

“What color is that? Maybe I can recommend it to my girlfriend.”

“Aw, you’re not saying anything. Are you scared?”

“Oh, are you _scared_ of us?”

“Don’t be, we just want to have a little fun.” At once, like always, they pounced on him, securing his wrists and beginning their assault. A sharp blow to the face leaves him with a bleeding lip that he can taste, and his head slams into something hard on the ground when they pull him down.

In sullen silence, Gerard braced himself for the kicks, the recurring punches that never seem to end, but nothing happened. He’d just been pinned by three of them while the fourth towered over him, smirking down at him sadistically.

“You’re below us, fag. It’s time someone put you back in your place.” Gerard groaned as he watched them all begin to move at once. Put him back in his place? When did he ever leave it? 

_Then_ the assault began.

He wasn’t alarmed at first when they’d begun to rip at his school jacket. It wasn’t the first time they’d desecrated one of his uniforms since he didn’t deserve the “honor” of wearing it. But terror started to strike him when they ripped off his tie and used to bind his wrists to the base of the bleachers before one of them fisted a hand in the material of his shirt and began to tear it.

“The fuck?” Gerard hissed at them, irritated at himself for wasting the energy of speaking to them, giving them the satisfaction of a reaction, but unable to keep his uncertainty inside.

“We’re gonna give you what you want, fag,” the blonde said with a horrifying smirk. Gerard stared at him, eyes growing wide with confusion and horror.

He told himself that they weren’t serious, they were just trying to freak him out the way that they had hundreds of times before. They hated him because fucked boys—why the hell would they fuck him, even if it was just to mess with his head and ruin him worse?

They wouldn’t…They wouldn’t…

But they were…

“Get the fuck off of me!” Gerard shrieked, kicking his legs when one of the jocks got between then and started messing with his belt. A deeper panic began to set in as he realized what the price would be—what humiliation it would be—if they got him undressed.

Not even fifteen minutes ago he’d been with his teacher—no sheaf of protection between them. Barlow’s seed was still inside of him, some of it still drying on his thighs. If they stripped him—which was no doubt what they intended to do—they would see that and the harassment would never end.

“Oh, now you start to fight—acting like you don’t like it,” the jock said, gesturing for the others to hold Gerard’s legs as he finished with the belt and moved on to the button and zip of his captive’s pants.

“Let me go!” Gerard shouted, thrashing against the hands that surrounded him and pulling in vain at his bound hands. The fabric of his tie began to creak, but nothing more as it was pulled taut. “Get off!” His scream turned ragged and then died on his lips as the waistbands of his pants and his boxers were yanked on.

He stared up at the cracks of light showing in between the slats on the bleachers and sighed with a shaking breath. It was over. He was over. They’d never let him live it down.


	8. My Brutal Romance

Gerard faded back to consciousness, whimpering and pulling in shaking breaths slowly as he tried to keep calm. He tugged at his hands while staring up at the darkness, unable to see more than a few slats of dim light bleeding through the levels of the bleachers over top of him. His wrists were still bound by his tie, and he began to sob when tugging at the fabric did him no good. 

Doing his best not to panic, Gerard began to twist each of his wrists gently against the binding, trying to get the knot to relax enough for him to pull free. He pressed his knees together subconsciously in spite of the pain, trying to cover himself even though it was too dark here for anyone to see him and even though he knew no one was around. 

He could sense the abandonment on the air and it ripped at his chest. When he’d blacked out there had been four people snarling down at him, four people he’d never thought would stoop so low—low enough to be on his level, to take him, each of them, one at a time despite his pleas, despite his screams, despite their steady girlfriends…to leave him still tied to the bleachers with no means of escape except for discovery. 

Gerard screamed out in terror and frustration, feeling himself succumb to the panic. No one was ever going to come to help him, and he was incapable of getting himself free…Was anyone even looking for him? For it to be so dark out, it had to be past ten O’clock… He was always home by four thirty… Did his parents think he’d run away? Did Mikey know better?

Where _was_ Mikey? Of all of the people in the world, Gerard wanted to see him at that moment. Mikey wouldn’t reject him because of this like Barlow probably would…like Frank might. Mikey would probably cry, too, and want to help.

“You’re brother’s getting it next, fag!” The brunette jock had spat after Gerard had bitten his tongue as it had tried to enter his mouth. “You’re brother’s gettin’ it next!”

Gerard cried out again, just at the memory and yanked on his wrists, hearing a satisfying crack from the fabric. It loosened enough for Gerard to begin slipping his left hand out, instantly filling him with intense, but shallow, joy and hope. 

The instant his hands were free, he pulled them to his chest and rolled onto his side, allowing himself to curl into the damp grass and trying to shake the memories of what had happened. 

It had to have been a nightmare. There was no other excuse. The jocks _wouldn’t_ do that. They wouldn’t stoop so low…They wouldn’t break the law like that—end up being tried for the sexual assault of another boy… They couldn’t. It was just a nightmare because it made no sense.

Gerard began to weep, covering his face with his hands and trying to disappear. 

He wanted to go home. He wanted to see Mikey and tell him that the world was ending and that they should run away together—him and Frank and Ray…all of them, together. Just transfer schools and go someplace else away from Barlow and their enemies. 

He wanted to go home…

Gerard pulled in several deep, trembling breaths and lowered his hands from his face, peering at the darkness for the shreds of his clothes. There was a dark mass not far to his left and he shifted towards it gently, not moving any more than necessary to be able to grab the garment with the tips of his fingers and pull it to him. 

He managed to find joy again as he pulled his uniform jacket around his shoulders and buried himself into it. Gerard relished its comfort for the moment before forcing himself to face the fact that the jacket was nearly useless to him and he needed to find his pants. 

The pain was next to unbearable as he began to crawl across the ground, squinting into the darkness around him at the objects only made visible by the distant security lights around the school. His shoes were easily discernable, and he grabbed them when he neared them though he didn’t put them on. 

For a moment he feared that in a last sadistic attempt to crush him, the jocks had stolen the bottom half of his uniform, but then he finally stumbled upon his torn pants and slid them on without hesitation. 

He wanted out of here. He couldn’t take the darkness and the strange sounds of night anymore. He didn’t care if his body felt like it was about to rip apart with each step he took as he stumbled away from the bleachers, across the field and towards the entrance to the campus. Gerard wanted to go home before anyone else decided that he was somehow deserving of more pain.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard began to laugh and cry in the same instant when he saw that the light was on the living room of his house. The clock outside of his school had read 1:38 a.m., and it was still a half hour walk home—maybe even an hour as Gerard stumbled blindly down the streets in more pain than he could have ever imagined.

Even though it was so late, someone was still waiting up for him. Waiting anxiously for his return…

He tried the front door, but it was locked. His house key, he already knew, was not going to be in his pocket, so he settled for ringing the doorbell over thumping on the door. Sound immediately erupted through the house, making Gerard begin to smile as he sniffed and wiped his nose of his jacket sleeve. 

The door lock cracked and then the door was swung open, his mother appearing instead of Mikey, making Gerard’s face drop as he stared nervously at her. How could someone look so relieved and so angry in the same instant?

When she didn’t move, he opened the screen door himself and stepped inside of the house, enjoying its warmth and the familiar scents that immediately engulfed him. This was like coming home after a long, terrible vacation.

“Gerard, don’t ever scare me like that again! Where were you? What…happened?” Gerard smiled at her, even though he was crying again and gave her a hug instead of answering. “Where’s your shirt?” She asked, more than just on the edge of tears herself. 

Gerard didn’t answer her, just let her go and walked farther into the house, leaving her to close the door as he limped his way down the basement stairs into his bedroom. She followed him.

“What happened, Gerard? Answer me!”

“Got beat up,” Gerard said, forcing on a tone of apathy as he dug through his dresser in search of pajamas—something over-sized and soft that he could burrow into after washing his skin away. “Blacked out for a bit…”

“What?” His mother went to him, touching his arm gently and trying to get him to look her in the eye. That was something he wasn’t capable of doing when he lied. “What _really_ happened? Why would you lie to me right now? What did you do?”

“What did I do?” Gerard repeated, staring vacantly at his dresser with eyes that slowly grew wider and wider. “What did I ever do?” He turned and started back for the stairs, groaning in pain as he walked back up them.

“Where are you going?” His mother called after him desperately, chasing him again. Gerard heard a door open and close, then his father’s unmistakable, heavy footsteps as he came to join the fleeting battle.

“Just going to take a shower,” Gerard mumbled as he slipped past his father who had appeared. He flinched visibly when his shoulder brushed against his dad’s, unable to control his sudden fear.

He didn’t think the jocks would stoop so low, but they did…His father was larger than them, probably stronger, too. Who was to say he wouldn’t do what they did? He was more than capable…

“I think you should wait a minute and talk to us first,” his father said, lacking any kind of anger or bitterness. It made Gerard feel a little better. What was he worried about? This was his family…they wouldn’t do things like that to him. He knew that, right? 

“Where’s Mikey?” Gerard asked, standing outside of the open bathroom door, glancing at his father’s face and immediately back down.

“I told him to go to bed,” his mother said gently, going over to her oldest son and touching his chin where there was blood from his split lip. “Gerard, wh—”

“I told you I got beat up,” he said, backing away from her and entering the sanctuary of the bathroom. It was probably the safest place in the house. No one fucked with you when you were on the toilet, no one followed you into the shower looking for a fight. He closed the door and locked it, even though neither of his parents moved to pursue him, just as he’d expected.

He tossed his clothes onto the counter and set out a towel, trying not to listen to his parents as they immediately began to argue.

“I’ll talk to him,” his dad kept saying. 

“You’re just going to—”

“No, I’m not.”

“Please don’t yell at him, he’s already crying—”

“I’m not going to yell!”

“Shh, you’re going to wake Mikey up.” Gerard turned on the shower before he was even undressed, just to drown out the noise.

( ) ( ) ( )

“Can I stay home from school?” Gerard asked his father who stood in the living room waiting for him once he was done with his shower. Gerard didn’t want to discuss anything, he wanted to go to bed because he felt like he was dying, but he didn’t want chased around the house by his dad either. His dad wanted answers, and he’d get them before too long if he was patient enough.

Fucking Mikey would probably tell him…

“Yeah,” his father said, rubbing his forehead as if in confusion. They stood in silence for a few minutes, Gerard staring at the floor trying not to think of what would happen if his father suddenly charged at him, wrestled him to the floor and tortured him like the jocks. This was his family—he wanted to trust them… “Was it someone at your school?” His dad asked.

Gerard opened his mouth to say no, but then closed it. Opened it to say yes, then stopped. He started to say that he didn’t remember, but his dad cut him off.

“Just go to bed,” he said suddenly. 

“I di—”

“Go. Get some sleep.” He didn’t speak with anger, but Gerard could still sense it. “You’re not going to talk about it, so just go. I don’t want you to stand there and lie to me.” Gerard’s face folded into a glare at the words, probably more upset than he would have been at another time.

It was so typical. So maybe he was going to lie? So what? Why couldn’t his dad actually try to get to the truth? Ask him why he felt he needed to lie…

The jocks weren’t like Barlow. If someone asked…If someone asked if the jocks had raped him, he would have said yes…  
Gerard gave his father a filthy look and turned around, leaving the room without any further words being said.

His own bedroom was not a place he wanted to be. Being surrounded by artwork inspired by his teacher—the teacher he loved that he knew would never love him after this—sounded like mental torture. 

He wanted to be with Mikey, someone he trusted never to hurt him—unless, of course, it was for his own good.

Gerard slipped into Mikey’s dark room, tripping almost instantly over miscellaneous junk on his floor, making pain jolt through his body as he strived to catch his balance. Finally, he made it to Mikey’s bed, paying no mind to the body he climbed over to secure a spot on the mattress where it was pushed against the wall. Absurdly, he felt safe there with a wall to his back and Mikey’s body between him and the doorway.

There was no way for Mikey to have slept through having Gerard stumbling over top of him in an attempt to share the bed, just like there was no way for him to sleep while his brother was away—missing. 

He’d heard Gerard come home, heard their parents arguing, heard their dad order Gerard to bed…

Earlier, he’d tried to tell his mom that it was the teacher. That was why Gerard wasn’t home, but she’d misunderstood. When he’d said that Gerard had been seeing a teacher, he didn’t mean “visiting with after school”.

“He’s been gone for four hours, Mikey! He’s not with his teacher!” She didn’t let him explain after that... 

“Gerard,” Mikey whispered. Next to him, Gerard stirred, not asleep but not fully awake. “Was it our teacher?” 

“No.” The way he said it, as if admitting a horrid secret, made Mikey believe him.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard sobbed quietly, looking over the blood that was draining from his wrists and the insides of his elbows. He rocked back and forth where he sat on the floor of the bathroom, occasionally wiping his hand across one of his inner thighs where the freshest blood ran. He didn’t care where he cut anymore, how he cut, or how much blood he drew. He just wanted everything to go away.

After staying home from school for two days, his father forced him to go back. Mikey had tried to argue in Gerard’s defense, but lost. Mikey was never good at arguing when their dad raised his voice. Mikey wasn’t good at being yelled at.

Everything seemed to be going well—as well as it could—until Barlow had kissed him after art class. Unable to explain why he wouldn’t kiss back, unable to tell why he wouldn’t stay after school, Gerard had fled—leaving the entire building and coming home early without permission.

When Mikey came home, he’d brought Frank with him, and Gerard wasn’t able to take it anymore. 

So he broke down a little? What did it matter? Who would care where he cut, how he cut, or how deep? No one. No one…It didn’t matter. His parents quit asking what happened, they didn’t care. Mikey didn’t ask—so long as it wasn’t Barlow he seemed unconcerned. 

Gerard grabbed the blade again and drug it down the palm of his hand, marking himself visibly but disappearing in the pain. So what if someone saw? Maybe _then_ they’d come and help!

Maybe then they’d start to care!

There was a loud knock on the bathroom door and Gerard jumped, the razor being jolted out of his hand and landing in the empty bathtub. 

“Hey, Gerard? You okay? You’ve been in there for a while…” It was Frank… Gerard grabbed for a roll of toilet paper and began to hastily wipe the blood off of his legs, wincing and hissing from the pain. 

“Y-yeah, I’m—I’m fine!” Gerard called back, getting to his feet and turning on the water in the sink. He looked around at his own body and the floor. There wasn’t much blood on the tiles, but the sink began to stain with it as Gerard washed his forearms quickly under cold water.

He rinsed off his hand and opened the seat of the toilet, throwing the wad of bloodied tissue inside before grabbing another fistful, wetting it, and using it to wipe off his thighs as quickly as he could.

“Gerard, can we…Can I talk to you when you get out?” 

“S-sure,” Gerard called back, rinsing his bleeding hand again and cursing himself for thinking to cut it. “Just wait in my room, okay? I’ll be out in a minute.” He threw the rest of the tissue into the toilet and flushed, focusing his attention on finding bandages—lots of them—so the blood on his arms wouldn’t bleed through his shirt.

( ) ( ) ( )

“Mikey said…you got beat up after school on Monday,” Frank said softly, looking at Gerard’s floor instead of him. It was so hard to look at Gerard, the pain in his eyes looked as if it could consume anyone willing to gaze at it.

“So…why are you asking me about it?” Gerard asked, his tone holding no appreciation for the seriousness of the matter at hand.

“Because I want to know what really happened,” Frank said, looking back at Gerard and pleading with his eyes. “Did Mr. Barlow hurt you?” Gerard glared at him.

“ _He_ wouldn’t do this to me,” Gerard snapped back.

“Then who did?” Frank asked, crossing the room to stand next to Gerard who just seemed to shy away from him. 

“Just some guys off of the lacrosse team,” Gerard muttered. “Nothing surprising…”

“Oh,” Frank mumbled back. Why was it so hard to talk to him? He used to be such an open book, so easily readable and exposed. Now he was locking himself away, making it nearly impossible to reach out to him. 

“Why do you think I’m lying about it?” Gerard asked suddenly. “Are you like my dad and you think I got drunk and passed out on the sidewalk?”

“Your dad said that?” Frank asked, looking to Gerard with alarm.

“No…but I feel like that’s what he thinks,” Gerard admitted, looking down at the floor and then back at Frank. Frank offered him a sympathetic glance and shook his head. “He doesn’t believe me when I say I got beat unconscious, so what else could have happened unless I did it to myself, right?”

“Gerard, what else did they do to you?” Frank asked firmly.

“What did _they_ do?” Gerard asked, sounding irritatingly sarcastic. Frank looked at him sadly, taking in his scarred lip and afflicted eyes. “You mean what did _I_ do.”

“No,” Frank rebuked, “I mean what the _fuck_ did they do, because it doesn’t make sense for you to miss school because some asshole split your lip! I don’t care if your dad doesn’t get that, or if Mikey won’t ask. I’m asking, and I want to know. I need to help you Gerard.”

“Why?” Gerard asked in a small voice, crossing the room to drop down on his bed. “Why do you _need_ to help.”

“Because I know you, Gerard,” Frank said, sitting beside his friend who scooted away. “I’m scared that if I don’t help you, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said,” Gerard spat, curling his lip in disgust, comparing Frank and his teacher in his mind. Next, Frank would try to seduce him… 

“Gerard, I’m afraid that you’re going to kill yourself,” Frank said loudly, attracting a slightly nervous glance from Gerard. A look that said he’d been considering it. “And if you do, I’ll _die_. Please, just talk to me. I won’t make you tell anyone, _I_ won’t tell anyone, I won’t make you do anything or go anywhere…I just want you to—to _communicate_! Talk! Let someone help you.” Gerard stared at him for a while, not moving except for to bite at his bottom lip. Frank watched the conflicting emotions writhe behind Gerard’s eyes and tried to combat them with an empathetic look of his own.

“Do you still love me, Frank?” Gerard asked quietly, turning his head to the floor and staring at emptily. 

“Yes,” Frank admitted. “I do.”

“And you won’t tell Mikey?”

“Tell Mikey?”

“If I tell you what happened,” Gerard repeated, still staring at his floor, “promise you won’t tell Mikey.” 

“I told you, I won’t tell anyone else,” Frank assured, placing his hand on Gerard’s shoulder and rubbing it gently. “It’s safe to talk to me.” 

Gerard looked at him timidly and scooted a little closer to Frank on the bed.

“I told Barlow I loved him,” Gerard said, spirit lifting a little when Frank didn’t comment. “I think he started to say that I couldn’t…or that he didn’t love me back, but I couldn’t take it so I…I made him quit talking. I-I kissed him.” Frank didn’t ask Gerard why he started talking about Barlow. He remained silent and let Gerard tell his story his own way. If he wanted to start at the beginning because it somehow made it easier to face the ending, then fine. Who cared if everyone else was eager to describe the final scene? “We didn’t use protection,” Gerard said, picking at his blanket with a bandaged hand and trying to put on an air of indifference. “I didn’t want to go home right away, you know? I had a lot on my mind…I just wanted to think. The guys…they snuck up on me when I wasn’t paying attention.” Gerard stopped talking then, looking confused and completely content with letting the tale end.

Frank would not allow it.

“Just two guys?” He asked, attracting an accusing glare from Gerard. Frank didn’t respond to it.

“Four,” Gerard spat before sighing heavily. He turned his eyes away towards his desk where a blank piece of paper lay. “They really did just beat me up at first, but…” Gerard swallowed hard and his eyes started to water. Frank returned to caressing his shoulder and tried to comfort him while keeping silent, not wanting to cut him off if he started to speak. 

Gerard felt so trapped, so completely and utterly cornered. What good would it do to tell Frank? What could he do? It wouldn’t change anything… And yet, Gerard wanted to tell. Frank would comfort him, probably hug him and maybe even cry with him.

Unlike Barlow, the last thing Frank would try to do was sleep with him. Gerard found comfort in that.

“They…Frank,” Gerard groaned, leaning his head down so it was on his friend’s shoulder. Instantly, Frank’s arms were around him, offering comfort. 

“It’s okay, Gee,” Frank said, nuzzling Gerard’s tangled hair. “You don’t have to be afraid to tell me.”

“You’re not going to believe me,” Gerard professed, shaking his head and letting out a trembling sigh.

“Yes I will, Gerard. Just tell me,” Frank pleaded, his voice cracking as he felt Gerard’s pain become his own. “You don’t have to go through this on your own.”

“They raped me,” Gerard said, no louder than a whisper, before choking on a sob and falling into tears. Frank immediately tightened his grip on Gerard’s body as his friend collapsed onto him heavily, practically forcing him to lay back on the bed.

Gerard lay on top of him, his legs on either side of Frank’s hips and their chests touching. He moved his face to nuzzle Frank’s chin, sighing in comfort despite his tears when Frank lifted a hand to pet his hair. 

They’d raped him…as if his mind wasn’t fucked enough already. What was next? A house fire claimed the lives of everyone he loved? What had he ever done to call the world’s hate onto him?

“I love you, Gerard,” Frank whispered when Gerard moved to lay beside him rather than on him. Gerard didn’t answer, but he nuzzled closer, resting his head on Frank’s shoulders and tossing one of his legs over Frank’s waist. 

Gerard felt safe this way…with Frank’s body between him and the door. It was a lot like laying next to Mikey, only this was different… There seemed to be more emotions filling the microscopic gaps between them. 

“I love you, Gerard,” Frank had said. Gerard wanted to say—but couldn’t say—he thought he loved him back.


	9. My Pathetic Romance

Gerard felt more than conflicted as he entered the art room after school, already loosening his tie as he peered towards the open closet door. He closed and locked the classroom door behind him, not bothering to announce his appearance since Barlow was already expecting him. They’d talked after class again, and Barlow said it was okay for him to come back, even though it had been a week since the last time they lay together.

He didn’t explain to Barlow why he’d been avoiding him, even though that was the question his teacher had asked. He’d simply stated that he couldn’t, for undisclosed reasons, have sex. 

Gerard crept towards the closet, peering inside where Barlow stood, examining the handle of a box-cutter under the naked bulb of the room. 

“You know, I was thinking we could try something a little rough,” Barlow said, looking towards Gerard and smiling. His twisted smirk dropped into a frown when he noticed Gerard staring at the box-cutter nervously and looking horrifically pale. Then Barlow began to chuckle, making Gerard back a step away. “You liked this last time, Gerard,” Barlow said making Gerard feel nauseous. “Do you remember? The time I blindfolded you…” 

“I-I remember,” Gerard stammered uneasily, staring at the box-cutter and then back at Barlow. “I-Is that what you…used on me?” He asked, praying that the answer was no. What sort of sick fuck would use such a horrific thing for that purpose… Even with the blade retracted…who would ever…put that inside of someone’s body? Who would ever think that that would grant pleasure?

Barlow looked at the utility knife and smiled almost affectionately at it. 

“Just the handle. I didn’t want to hurt you, but I thought the shape of it would give you an interesting—uh—sensation.” Gerard swallowed hard and tried to meet his teacher’s eyes. “Would you like to try it again? You said you liked it last time.” Gerard shook his head, looking at the metal handle and retracted blade. What kind of sick fuck would even think to use that? “No?”

“No,” Gerard replied, no louder than a whisper. Barlow hummed in dissatisfaction and set the box-cutter back on the shelf. He approached Gerard, wrapping one arm around his waist to pull him close and using his other hand to shut the door. When it slammed, Gerard jumped—not expecting the sound and running on already tense nerves—his body instantly colliding and rutting against Barlow’s in the most intimate of ways.

Barlow chuckled and pulled him closer, pressing back against him and caressing his hair. When he resituated his hands, aiming to unbuckle Gerard’s belt, Gerard pulled away nervously. 

“What?” Barlow asked, looking at Gerard with more disappointment than concern. Gerard saw that look and his eyes welled with tears. “What, Gerard?” Barlow moved back over to Gerard and embraced him soothingly. 

“Just please be gentle with me,” Gerard sobbed, pressing his face to Barlow’s shoulder. “I can’t today—I couldn’t take it. Please…don’t make it hurt.” Barlow stroked his hair gently, trying to console him, but the action seemed half-hearted. 

“You’re sad again,” Barlow mumbled, prying Gerard off of his chest and cupping his face gently. “What happened to you? Hm? You stayed away for so long. Did you find someone else and you don’t want me to know?” Gerard sobbed hard and shook his head. “What then, Gerard?” He released Gerard’s face and began to caress his shoulders, moving slowly down his arms and coming to rest at his wrists, instantly noticing the ripples beneath the fabric of his jacket. “What’s this?” 

Gerard tried to pull his hands back, to hide the lacerations on his wrists because he knew Barlow would peel the bandages away and see. “I don’t want to see any new cuts on you,” Barlow had said when they’d first been together. Gerard was afraid of what Barlow would do if he saw.

“What is this?” Barlow asked, yelling and causing Gerard’s legs to give out as panic overtook him. He tried to pull his wrists down, but Barlow only released one of them so he could peel back the sleeve of his jacket and shirt to reveal the bandages. He began to unwind them, despite Gerard’s pleas and cries. “What did you do?” He sounded angry, not concerned, not worried, not sad—just pissed off because Gerard’s body was of even less value to him now.

Barlow dropped the wrist once the bandages were off and immediately grabbed his other, even though Gerard stared at him in terror and tried to plead with him not to take anymore off. 

“Where else?” Barlow asked, throwing Gerard’s un-bandaged wrist back at him. Gerard looked up at him sadly, hurt and rejection showing on his face. He’d expected Barlow to react the way he had before, on the first day—to coddle the wounds and heal them with kind words. “Where _else_?” Barlow asked again, kneeling down to be on Gerard’s level.

Gerard didn’t answer. He just stayed fixed on the floor and trembled, fearing what was next. 

“Here?” Barlow asked angrily, grabbing Gerard painfully by his inner thigh. Gerard cried out from the combined fear and pain as the tight grip broke open his cuts. “Why are you doing this to yourself?” Barlow asked, pushing against Gerard’s thigh hard enough to make Gerard fumble backwards, even though he already sit on the floor. “Are you trying to get my attention? Are you trying to make me mad?” He grabbed Gerard by his hair, and forced the boy to look at him. 

“I’m sorry,” Gerard squeaked, shaking badly in Barlow’s grip and sobbing hard. He’d come here looking for love and affection…now, he knew he was getting what he deserved. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry—please, please, please. I’m sorry!” Gerard guessed that he was okay with the idea of accepting the punishment Barlow had in store for him…that was, until, Barlow began to push him back against the floor, beginning to crawl over top of him and releasing his hair in favor of grasping for Gerard’s belt.

After that, Gerard could take no more. He crumbled, he snapped, he fell to pieces—he did whatever poetic equivalent there was for forgetting his loyalties and relying only on instincts of self-preservation. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Ray and Frank were over because Mikey couldn’t stand waiting around the house for Gerard to come home by himself anymore. He liked having someone there to distract him for the minutes that ticked by, the extra hour he had to wait to see if Gerard would come home lovesick or crying. 

The loud bang that echoed through the house as Gerard made his appearance did catch Mikey off-guard, but he didn’t react like he thought he would. Mikey knew he should have felt sympathy and horror, fear and pain for his brother, but he felt next to nothing now. This time it was Gerard’s own fault. He hadn’t been made to go back to Mr. Barlow. That was a decision he made all on his own.

Why he needed Mr. Barlow when he and Frank seemed to finally be opening up to one another was beyond Mikey’s level of comprehension, but he hadn’t asked. 

There was another loud slam as Gerard closed the door, and then a thud—what could only be Gerard throwing his shoulder bag down the basement stairs so he wouldn’t have to carry it. Then came his hastened footsteps on the stairs going down into his room…then the loud cries that indicated something had gone wrong.

Something in Gerard’s room slammed and the sobs became more rapid and choked as Gerard ran himself out of breath.

“Fuck this,” Frank hissed when no one else acted to comfort Gerard. “I’m not leaving him on his own.” He shot Mikey a nasty look, making Mikey cringe with a sudden pang of guilt, before leaving the room and descending into Gerard’s bedroom. 

“You’re not even going to—”

“It’s Frank’s turn,” Mikey responded quietly to Ray’s nearly horrified inquiry. “Gerard won’t listen to me.” 

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank hadn’t known what to expect when he made it to the basement, but he knew it hadn’t been this. Gerard sat in the corner of his room, his knees pulled up and his hands hidden behind legs—the position one might take when trying to draw when a table wasn’t present. 

At first he’d thought Gerard had been sketching something, but the way he whined with each slow and brutal pen-stroke changed his mind. He wasn’t sketching, he was carving slow and deliberate lines into himself.

“Gerard!” Frank exclaimed, immediately attracting the attention of the sobbing boy who froze and then looked up in terror. 

“F-Frank…” Gerard stared at him nervously and brokenly as he came to him. Frank was here? Why? He felt himself swell with shame and self-loathing. Frank didn’t reject him because of Barlow, and probably only because he saw Barlow as the one to blame… With this though…but with this, Gerard was the one to blame—the action was the very epitome of his mind. Sick, twisted, disturbed, horrific, ugly, mutated, wrong…

Who could love something like that? No one. He didn’t want Frank to see this side of him, but he knew that it was best that he did…

Let Frank see what he’d gotten himself into before he felt obligated to stay. Let him get the chance to turn around before it was too late…

However—selfishly—Gerard didn’t want Frank to go. He wanted him to stay and help clean up the blood before his dad came home and saw…He wanted Frank to stay… He needed him to help. 

Frank kneeled down beside Gerard, placing one hand on his shoulder and plucking the blade from between Gerard’s fingers quickly with the other before it could do any more damage to the enflamed, bloody arm. 

Once the blade was out of his hands, Gerard seemed to reach the end. Frank could see it in his eyes. The horrified, cornered look he had told Frank more than any words could have. It didn’t matter what the teacher had done this time, all that mattered was that Gerard was ready to give in to the torment, to hurt himself to make sure that no one else could ever hurt him again.

Gerard was shaking and his eyes darted anxiously from his cut wrist to Frank’s face. Frank offered him the warmest look he could as tears began to fall from his own eyes before leaning in gently and wrapping his arms around Gerard’s trembling form. Gerard stiffened and cried out once in apprehension before giving in to the comfort sobbing on Frank’s shoulder.

“He tried to rape me, too,” Gerard sobbed in answer of the unspoken question, wrapping his arms around Frank and holding him tightly. He heard Frank gasp in vicarious pain and dread. “Why?” Gerard sobbed. “Why!?” He held Frank tighter, disregarding the pain that the action shot up his arm. 

“I don’t know,” Frank whimpered. “I’m sorry, Gerard.” He nuzzled Gerard’s hair and tightened his grip, responding to Gerard’s movements. 

“It’s all I’m good for,” he whimpered.

“No,” Frank argued, making his voice firm as he tried to drive the thought out of Gerard’s head before it became permanent and grew. 

“I loved him so much,” Gerard cried. “I really did!”

“I know,” Frank said, rubbing Gerard’s back and nuzzling him again gently. “I’m sorry he hurt you.” Gerard calmed a little, feeling consoled when Frank didn’t add on to say ‘but it’s your own fault’ or ‘we told you it was wrong’. Frank wasn’t judging him. Frank didn’t blame him… “But please don’t let him kill you, too.” Frank pulled back despite Gerard’s unfaltering grasp around his torso. He let Gerard keep him encircled in his arms, and kept his own arms slung around his friend in a loose embrace. 

“It’s just…I-I just…” Gerard, suddenly remembering his split arm, yanked away from the embrace and cradled his afflicted limb to his chest.

“You don’t need to explain,” Frank said softly as he unwound his arms from Gerard’s body. He pulled the arm away from Gerard’s chest gently, giving Gerard a sympathetic glance as he did. The bleeding seemed to be slowing, the lacerations not appearing to be as deep as Frank had feared. 

He lowered his head and instantly stopped Gerard’s tears when he touched his lips to the stinging, inflamed skin.

“Frank…You shouldn’t—”

“I know how you feel,” Frank interjected, looking up to meet Gerard’s eyes. There was something in them, an emotion that Gerard hoped more than anything was love… He needed that affection. It was the only thing that could keep him grounded and bring him back…

“You still love me?” Gerard asked desperately. Frank smiled and leaned forward, catching Gerard off guard when he gently pressed their lips together. Gerard sighed and closed his eyes gently before Frank pulled away. “You still love me,” he stated. Frank offered him another smile before pulling him back into a hug, letting Gerard go back to crying on his chest.


	10. My Selfish Romance

Mikey lied and said he was going to the bathroom, just so he could leave for lunch early that day. Conveniently, he’d also “forgotten” his books for that class so he had nothing to return to the room for before the bell rang and everyone else left. 

Getting food wasn’t his priority though, it was getting Gerard away from Mr. Barlow untouched. Even though he didn’t interact with people much, Mikey knew people. He observed them and got to know what made bugs crawl under their skin. Mikey knew that putting prescription bottles in the locker of a mathematician-jock once accused of steroid use would make that teenager fall into a blind rage that would later cause him to do “not so well” on his math exam—therefore making _Mikey_ the recipient of the highest score.

Mikey didn’t need fancy techniques or deep understanding to know what would set Mr. Barlow on edge, though. He was so much easier to peg. Mr. Barlow was a teacher who was having numerous, illegal sexual episodes with one of his students—a crime worthy of jail time. 

He wouldn’t want to end up in jail, so he needed to constantly make sure that he had Gerard playing into his hands at all times. Trying to force Gerard into sex that he didn’t want was the very last way to keep him quiet about the affair. To make sure that Gerard didn’t run off and tell the cops, Mr. Barlow would have to entrance him once again.

That task could be relatively simple or excruciatingly hard, depending on Gerard’s state of mind. After what had happened to him last night, the fit of tears and the possible attempted suicide, Mikey really doubted that Gerard was going to be easily persuaded to come back for more abuse.

Mr. Barlow did, however, have one very slick card up his sleeve. He’d never told Gerard that he loved him before—he’d held the word back for whatever reason he’d needed, and now was the perfect time to use it.

Gerard sought affection desperately—he’d already proven that he didn’t care who it came from, where it came from, or why it came at all, he just let himself drown in it. Gerard had been distressed when he’d said that Barlow never told him that he loved him…

If Barlow said it now, would it be enough to make Gerard come back?

As much as Mikey wanted to believe that Gerard had learned his lesson, he had a feeling that he’d still have a desire to go back to his lover and repossess what he’d once had. He wouldn’t want to admit to himself that the person he trusted could do him so wrong…

The bell rang and Mikey was almost hit by the art room door as the ravenous students burst out of it. He stayed out of the way of the door after that, just watching it to see if Gerard left. 

He did not, and Mr. Barlow appeared in the doorway no longer than it took to inattentively close the door so he could have privacy. Mikey knew better than to try to look in through the glass window of the door, just like he knew better than to try and crack the door open to see what was going on inside. He had to be patient, he had to just listen through the wood without looking like he was listening.

“Get to class,” a teacher mumbled mechanically as she walked past. She didn’t look at Mikey, not expecting a verbal answer, just an action. Mikey just turned his head to watch her leave and then inclined his head against the seam of the door, looking like he was impatiently waiting to go inside.

Five minutes ticked by and Mikey heard nothing except for a chair scooting back and indistinct mumbles. He sighed heavily and crossed his arms over his chest, wondering what was happening to his older brother and how he could fix the damage that may be being done.

“I just couldn’t, okay!?” Gerard sobbed loudly, sounding distressed and desperate. 

“Gerard,” Barlow said firmly. Mikey risked a look into the room through the window of the door. 

His older brother was sitting at one of the tables with his head buried in his hands and his shoulders trembling. Barlow was stooping over him, one hand on the desk supporting his weight while the rest of his torso pressed down on Gerard’s back. The teacher began to nuzzle the back of Gerard’s head gently, but the action didn’t seem to console him at all.

Barlow went back to mumbling, but whatever he’d said caused Gerard to bolt up out of his seat, nearly colliding his head with his teacher’s nose.

Mikey pulled back from the window and listened intently to what his brother was saying.

“No!” Gerard sobbed. “No! That’s not okay! That’s _wrong!_ You can’t do that! You can’t do that to me!”

“Gerard, you need to _quit_ yelling.” 

“You can’t do that to me! No! No.” Mikey bit into his bottom lip at the sound of his brother’s frantic voice. It was hard to just stand and listen, not get involved, but he was glad that he would be there when Gerard left the room because the tone of his voice tottered on the edge of instability. Somebody needed to be there to comfort him before anything else could happen, someone to be him buffer from the rest of the world—if only for a few short moments.

Barlow muttered something then that set Gerard off worse. 

“I won’t let you do that! It isn’t fair!” Mikey didn’t even have to strain to understand the words. They were perfectly clear, loud enough to be heard away from the door and just in the hallway.

“Quit that, _now_ ,” Barlow commanded, nothing but anger in his voice.

“No! You can’t do that!”

“Gerard, stop it!”

“Why would you do that to me!? I did everything you told me!”

“Gerard, if you don’t stop that right now—”

“I—don’t! No! No, don’t!” Mikey’s body stiffened as alarm hit him. There was a crash, a wail, and then the doorknob began to rattle as it was unlocked. Mikey had just enough time to back a step away before the door swung open and Gerard collided with him, knocking him backwards and to the floor. 

Mikey pulled Gerard down with him. Not because he’d wanted to, but because he’d instinctively grabbed onto his brother’s shoulders when he began to fall. It was probably best that way. It kept Gerard from running off.

For Mikey, no one else existed in the world at that moment except for him and Gerard. A nearby door slammed, probably Barlow’s, but he didn’t look up. He wrapped his arms around Gerard’s quivering shoulders and held him close, Gerard seeming to recognize him even though he hadn’t looked up to see his face and accepted the comfort. Someone walked by and hissed something, but all Mikey heard was Gerard’s muffled cries.

He stroked Gerard’s hair and shifted their bodies so they were sitting up a little straighter, Gerard supporting his own weight and his head being gently coaxed upwards. Mikey wanted to meet Gerard’s eyes, to see if there was any stability there at all. Gerard was at his breaking point, and the last thing Mikey wanted was to say the wrong thing and push him over the edge.

Gerard lifted his face slowly, his sobs becoming rapid pants as he tried to get himself under control—probably more aware of his surroundings than Mikey was. His entire face was wet, the tears smudged by the fabric of Mikey’s jacket, and once eye contact was made Gerard didn’t break it. He was communicating, and saying more than he could have with words.

There was so much heartache in his eyes, so much pain and anguish…The eyes were pleading for help, but still looking reluctant to accept it. He was still afraid of being walked out on—given up as a lost cause and left to console himself.

“I want to go home,” Gerard whimpered, looking away from Mikey and closing his eyes against the tears. Mikey continued stroking his brother’s hair, and then started to stand, practically dragging Gerard up with him.

“If you wait outside the office, I’ll sign us both out. I don’t want you to have to walk home on your own.” Gerard nodded and then looked at Mikey sadly. “I’ll come back at the end of the day and pick up our books and things. I don’t want to have to run around looking for assignments right now for the classes we’ll miss.”

“You don’t have to come,” Gerard sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve and shuddering, his eyes slipping closed.

“Gerard,” Mikey said firmly, but still with compassion. “I’m not leaving you alone right now. I don’t trust you and I think you could use the company.” 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard was sleeping on the couch when Mikey left to return to the school. He’d calmed down enough to actually speak about what had happened, but not without acting as if embarrassed about it. 

Barlow had told him that he loved him, tried to get a blowjob, and then hit him when he refused. When Gerard had reacted, Barlow threatened to tell the school about the cuts on his wrist. 

Cuts Gerard reluctantly agreed to show Mikey when he asked. They were slashes just like before, lacerations their dad didn’t seem to understand. 

While Gerard was in the mood to confess, Mikey had thought to ask about what had happened the night he hadn’t come home. He decided against it, though. Gerard seemed to anticipate that question before Mikey even asked and had sent him a guarded look warning him against asking.

Gerard wasn’t ready to talk about that. He just wanted to get over Barlow and heal those wounds before picking at the next.

Mikey passed Frank on his way to the school and passed off his house key to him when he asked if it was alright to come over and see Gerard. He warned him about Gerard’s mood, but that was all. Gerard’s business was Gerard’s business, and if he didn’t want Frank to know about it then Mikey wouldn’t tell.

The atmosphere seemed wrong when Mikey stepped back onto the school grounds. It made him apprehensive. He kept feeling as if someone was lurking behind him, but he knew that if he turned to look there would be no one there. He slid inside the building, mostly empty of students but not completely, and started towards the classrooms on the first floor that he needed. 

It took him less than ten minutes to acquire the worksheets and to jot down the text book assignments that he and Gerard needed, but that hadn’t been enough time for the nervousness to leave him.

Something was wrong here, but he told himself it was just Barlow he was picking up on. This was a school that employed rapists. It wasn’t a place to trust…

When he tried to leave the building, four of the seemingly infinite number of jocks that infested the prep school got in his way. As it were, he wasn’t their favorite victim since tormenting him got them just as far as harassing a cement wall, but they still made attempts every now and then when his brother wasn’t around.

That was fine. Gerard didn’t need the added stress.

“Heard your brother went home early because he got his period and didn’t have a tampon.” The jocks cackled like it was the funniest thing in the world, but Mikey just stared at them blankly. Really, that was the best they could come up with? It wasn’t even remotely humorous…but Mikey guessed he was biased since it was his brother being insulted, and nothing seemed funny at the moment.

Mikey moved to push past them, but one grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back. Mikey tried to shrug him off, keeping his face indifferent and posture relaxed. They didn’t bother him. Unlike Gerard, if they punched him he’d fuckin’ press charges, and he would win. Jocks who punched honor students with glasses— _specifically_ with glasses—never got very far in the justice system.

“Did your brother make it home alright on Friday?” One of them asked with a sick laugh. A glare broke through Mikey’s indifferent mask. “He left this behind.” Mikey was forcedly turned around and a shredded piece of white fabric was pushed into his hands.

“Oh, looks like he’s getting angry!” The jock holding the lacrosse stick taunted. Mikey didn’t waste time trying to go back to looking unfazed. 

“Why don’t you come with us, huh? We’ll show you where he let us fuck him.”

“What did you just say?” Mikey snapped, turning to face the blonde jock and hardening his face. He knew that he should have expected this to be another one of those you’re-brother-came-on-to-me skits, but his soul disagreed with his brain. Maybe he was just more suspicious now because of the issue with Barlow, but he didn’t think that they were lying.

“Come on,” one of them said, grabbing Mikey and pushing him towards the soccer fields. 

“Yeah, come on,” another repeated, shoving Mikey as well, nearly pushing him off balance.

Mikey focused more attention on trying to keep his balance than he did snapping at them to quit touching him or whatever else. What good did it do to talk to people? They didn’t listen, and these people would just laugh at whatever he said.

He did begin to think that he should have spent more time trying to get away than fighting to stay upright. When he reached the side of the bleachers, he realized that it would be a bit more suspicious if a teacher looked outside and saw four boys dragging a person across the campus rather than just harshly nudging someone along. 

Boy will be boys. Ignorant teachers wouldn’t suspect a thing.

“You know, you don’t say very much,” the brunette jock said with a smirk. Mikey glared at him and then got the beautiful idea to spit in his face. A foot connected with his gut and he fell backwards onto the stands, successfully evading the hand that tried to force him beneath the bleachers instead of on top of them. 

There was no way in Hell he was going under there. No one would see, and they were too far away from the school building for anyone to hear. Going back there would be the end, especially since that was the perfect place to get oneself cornered.

“Where you runnin’ to?” The blonde asked when Mikey started fumbling backwards on the stands with Gerard’s torn shirt still in his hand. The other jocks joined their apparent leader and managed to corner Mikey regardless of the open plane. There were four of them, Mikey assumed, they could form their own little box. “You don’t actually think you’re getting away, do you?”

“Make this quick, man,” one of them said to the blonde. “We’ve got practice in ten minutes.”

Mikey glanced back and forth between the three jocks that were in front of him and at his sides. He didn’t waste time craning his neck to see who was behind him. He didn’t care…not until that was the one who pounced first, grabbing him in some awkward grip and kicking the backs of his legs so that he was forced to drop down onto his knees. 

One of the others left Mikey’s side to fist a hand in his hair and pull his head back while the jock behind him pinned his wrists and held them firmly to keep him from being able to stand.

Mikey glared up at the jock with disgust, not fear. Even when the blonde started undoing his belt.

“Looks like you’re more of a fag that my brother,” he spat, earning him a sharp kick to the stomach that made him hunch over in pain before the jocks restraining him forced him to sit back up.

“See, he admits it,” the brunette said with a laugh. “His brother’s a fag.” Mikey winced, but otherwise didn’t respond. 

“ _He’s_ a fag,” the blonde hissed, undoing the button and zip on his pants. “Bite me and your brother’s fuckin’ dead.”

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard did notice that Mikey was coming in late, but he didn’t worry. He assumed a teacher had probably stopped him to discuss something. Teachers liked Mikey, he was smart…

Frank helped to keep him occupied as well, letting minutes slip by unnoticed as the two of them discussed unimportant things like music and comics. 

But then the front door opened and slammed and Mikey stormed in. He threw his overstuffed shoulder bag onto the floor by the couch, not looking at his brother except for when he threw a wadded up ball of fabric into his face.

“M-Mikey?” Gerard stammered, grabbing at the white material and following his brother’s figure with wounded eyes. Mikey slammed the bathroom door, but the wood didn’t muffle the retching and gagging that followed.


	11. My Undercover Romance

Mikey inhaled shakily and let the breath out slowly, trying to clam himself after emptying the contents of his practically vacant stomach. 

_“Swallow it, fag! You know it’s what you want.”_

Mikey closed his eyes tightly and shook his head against the memory. He felt the tears bite the back of his eyes and took his bottom lip between his teeth as he tried to banish them.

No. He was not going to cry over this. Nothing had happened. He wasn’t hurt. He’d been more injured by the blow to his stomach than he had been by anything else. There was nothing to cry about. What had happened had been no different than any other, normal bullying episode.

Punching, harassing, name-calling… The only difference was that someone put a dick in his mouth. What was the big deal?

Mikey swallowed hard and glanced at the closed bathroom door blankly, fighting the tears that had come back. 

Why was he acting like this? He wasn’t even in pain. In fact, he knew he should have been grateful that he was spared the beating. 

He’d overreacted about this whole thing… What had he gotten so mad about? And to take that anger out on Gerard—now of all times—was unacceptable. 

He’d have to apologize—Oh, God…He was going to have to tell Gerard, wasn’t he?

_No_ , Mikey thought. _I don’t have to tell him anything._

_Why hide it? You said it was no big deal_ , his mind answered back. _Refusing to tell makes it seem like a big deal, don’t you think?_

_No. Gerard would overreact. He’d blame himself and he doesn’t need that guilt right now. We’ll take care of this one problem at a time. First, Barlow. Then whatever those jocks did to him that night. Then what happened to me. There’s no point trying to multitask._

God, but he knew he was going to have to tell…Mom was going to just _freak out_ , and Dad…

Mikey covered his face and dropped down to sit cross-legged on the floor. 

Dad was going to be so disgusted with him… There had been dozens of chances to get away before it even happened—it was daylight for God’s sake! There were practices going on all around, people were _every-fuckin’-where!_ His dad was going to know that, and he was going to get so angry…

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey had been in the bathroom for an hour and a half before he finally came out. Not knowing what had happened or what to do, Gerard sent Frank home and took up standing outside of the bathroom door, wringing the shredded shirt that Mikey had tossed at him in his hands anxiously.

His head was spinning a million miles an hour. Mikey threw the shirt at him—the shirt Gerard knew very well—and glared…why? Did he somehow find out about what had happened that night and he was mad at him about it? But then it was obvious that he’d started throwing up…was he disgusted by it? Disgusted by him? Did Mikey not love him anymore?

Gerard didn’t know if he’d be able to handle that. Mikey was one of the last things keeping him tied to Earth. Without his support, Gerard didn’t know what he would do…

It took everything in him not to immediately swamp Mikey with inquiries when he stepped out of the bathroom, but it was hard to remain that way when Mikey didn’t say anything as he attempted to retreat into his bedroom. 

“Mikey…” Gerard started, following his little brother like a puppy. “Mikey, are you mad at me?” Mikey sighed heavily as he stepped into his room, maneuvering around the piles of belongings on his floor. 

“Why would I be mad?” Mikey asked, the way an exhausted parent would question a child. 

“Y-You threw this sh—”

“I’m sorry,” Mikey answered in a mechanical tone of voice. Gerard made a soft sound of anguish and looked around Mikey’s room as he searched for words to say. Mikey beat him to it, sighing loudly and turning around to face his brother. He looked emotionless and bored. “Look, I’m not going to make this difficult. I know what they did to you, I know where, I know how—they didn’t skimp on the details.”

“Wh-what are you talking about?” Gerard asked nervously, his eyes showing apprehension and dread. Gerard knew what he was talking about.

“They thought that they could get to me by talking about how they hurt you. I think it worked. I’m pretty pissed off about it.” Despite his words, his tone was neutral. 

“They l-lied, Mikey,” Gerard stammered, glancing away briefly.

“No they didn’t.” Gerard passed Mikey an afflicted look and lowered his head.

“Don’t tell Mom and Dad!” Gerard suddenly shrieked, his eyes getting wide and overflowing with tears so spontaneously that it caught Mikey off guard. “Please, Mikey! They’d make me answer questions, they’d—they’d ask why I didn’t tell. Dad’ll think I let them do it on purpose! Mikey, you can’t!”

“I-I never said I was going to, Gee,” Mikey said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. 

“And Mom hugged me that night!” Gerard sobbed. “She’s gonna be sick! She’s gonna think I got something on her!”

“No she isn’t!” Mikey spat, Gerard’s panicking making him paranoid. 

“Mikey,” Gerard whimpered. “It was my fault for being there…I don’t want Dad to know.”

“It was not your goddamned fault!” Mikey shouted, not sure if he was trying to convince Gerard or himself. What the hell had Gerard been doing wandering around on campus after school? What had he, himself, been thinking when he let them push him into the school’s blind spot? Mikey had underestimated the jocks, Gerard had just been caught off guard by them…

Compared to what happened to Gerard…

Maybe, Mikey thought, he hadn’t really been raped at all. He’d just been forced to put something god-awful nasty in his mouth—it was like being forced to eat something gross for dinner. Gerard had been beaten, stripped, physically invaded in a way that actually caused him pain and to bleed…he’d been left tied up, completely alone until he somehow managed to break himself free…

Gerard had had it so much worse… He’d never even done anything to attract their attention or warrant their anger. Mikey had spat in their face and everything… _He’d_ been asking for it… Gerard was just trying to hide… What gave those bastards the right to traumatize him like that?

“Mikey—Mikey don’t cry!” Gerard grabbed his brother and pulled him close. “What’s wrong?” Gerard asked desperately, holding Mikey a little tighter and burying his face against his brother’s hair. “Did I do something?” He asked feebly, already feeling more guilt creeping up his throat. 

“It wasn’t you,” Mikey said angrily. Gerard flinched, but didn’t relax his grip on his brother. He had a feeling that it was him, but he still scoured his mind for other causes.

_“Your brother’s getting it next, fag!”_

Gerard jolted. 

That was it, wasn’t it? It was them. The jocks had gotten to him just like they’d threatened. Gerard felt so terrible. He’d forgotten to warn Mikey about them!

“What did they do to you!?” Gerard grabbed Mikey’s shoulders and pushed him back so he could look him in the eye. “What did they do? Where did they hurt you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mikey said in a horrifically robotic voice, looking at Gerard with blank eyes that no longer produced tears as he got himself back under control.

“Yes you do!” Gerard shouted, shaking Mikey hard and glaring at him through his pain. “God, what did they do to you? They’re going to tell me if you don’t! I don’t want to hear it from them! Tell me!”

“There’s nothing to say. Quit talking down to me like that.” Mikey sounded annoyed, but he kept his face blank.

“I’m your older brother! You don’t tell me what to do, you fucking do what I _fucking_ say! Tell me _now!_ ”

“It doesn’t matter what they did, Gerard. I’m fine. Why are you getting angry about this?”

“What did they do!?” Gerard screamed one last time, anger taking over every emotion in his eyes. Mikey knew better than to hold off anymore. 

“The guy just—just made me give him a blowjob,” Mikey said, acting like it meant nothing to him at all. “It was no big deal.”

“Mikey, how can you say that?” Gerard cried, eyes beginning to tear up. “Barlow told me to suck him off today. Should I have done that? It’s no big deal, right? I shouldn’t have gotten upset—is that what you’re trying to say? That I overreacted and had no reason to—”

“Gerard, quit trying to make this about you,” Mikey warned, eyes narrowing aggressively. “It’s my problem, and I’m dealing with it my own way.”

“You need to tell someone, Mikey, or they’re just going to do it again!” Gerard yelled. 

“Fuck you,” Mikey said harshly. “I’m not telling. It Doesn’t. _Fucking._ Matter.” Just then the front door of the house squeaked as it opened and their parents’ conversing voices filled the house.

“Fine,” Gerard said, his face becoming dangerously calm. “I’m telling Mom.” Mikey’s eyes widened and his whole body tensed with fear as Gerard started walking past him.

“If you tell them, I’ll tell them about your teacher!” Mikey hissed, keeping his voice low. 

“Fuck you,” Gerard grunted, his face and posture, as well as his voice, rigid and etched with a sense of duty. 

Mikey chased after him, down the hallway and towards the living room where his parents stood, finishing up their conversation prematurely when they saw the determined look on Gerard’s face and noticed Mikey chasing him.

Every other second or so, Mikey—whispering his brother’s name harshly—would reach out to grab Gerard’s shoulder or arm, but he’d miss or his older brother would shrug him off.

It reminded them of the way their kids used to be—one about to tattle and the guilty one coming along to say that anything his brother had to say was a lie.

“What’s going on?” Their dad asked in the fatherly-referee voice. Their mother just stood clear of the mess, even backing off a step when Gerard got close. 

“Mikey was—” Mikey latched onto his brother’s shoulders and jerked him backwards, cutting him off mid-sentence. Gerard passed his younger brother an all-knowing, purposeful glare. “Stop it. Mikey was—”

“Gerard!” Mikey covered Gerard’s mouth with his hand, the despair on Mikey’s face and his frantic, childish behavior catching his parents off guard. Usually it was Mikey who acted mature…

“Boys…” Their father watched them with disapproval, subtly thinking to himself many things like how he thought these days were over—really believing that he was done being the referee for these odd fights—and also remembering his children as they were before one spiraled into self-destructive depression and the other became an unemotional shell of a person.

Gerard pulled Mikey’s hand away and nudged him backwards a step, not responding to Mikey’s fear-stricken face or desperate pleas. 

“Mikey—Get _off_!” Gerard pushed Mikey backwards hard enough for the younger to lose his balance and fall to the floor heavily. Their dad groaned at them as his wife began to gently caress his arm in an attempt to keep him calm.

“Gerard, don’t push your—”

“Mikey was raped at school.”

“Goddamnit, Gerard,” Mikey hissed, sitting up and rubbing his left shoulder gently. “That’s not fucking true.” The fact that Mikey’s voice was low, and that he only made eye contact with the floor as he said it, told their father that it was, in fact, very true.

Gerard sighed and lost all of his intensity and sense of duty. He just looked broken and sad.

“Mikey?” Their mom said, her voice cracking and horror-stricken. Mikey stared at the floor and then began to get back up from where he’d been pushed.

“Gerard’s been fucking our art teacher for the past two months. He made him go back to cutting.”

“Mikey!” Gerard whipped around and passed Mikey a hurt glare. 

“If you’d mind you own fucking business!” Mikey snapped at him, rage and hurt brewing in his eyes. 

“Mikey,” their mother wailed, cutting off her youngest son’s rage. “Who hurt you?”

“They didn’t hurt me,” Mikey said irritably. 

“They!? Oh, God!” Their mother burst into tears and Mikey sighed heavily before hugging her gently and quietly trying to convince her that he wasn’t damaged.

Gerard watched them sadly for a minute before ashamedly glancing at his father who motioned for him to follow him downstairs to Gerard’s bedroom. Gerard felt sick, and contemplated running for the front door instead of the basement—maybe going to Frank’s and hiding.

“Gerard. Now.” Gerard sighed at the lack of empathy in the tone and glanced at his mother, hoping she’d peel herself off of Mikey for a second, just to tell their dad not to yell at him. She didn’t, and Gerard slowly crept towards his father where he stood at the top of the basement stairs. 

As he passed him, he became afraid again—not of what his dad would say, but of what he could do. What if his dad was just like the rest of them? Just like Barlow and the jocks…what if he wanted to do those things? 

Gerard shuddered as he descended the stairs, wincing each time he heard his father step down behind him. He was terrified, his whole body was trembling as he prepared himself for whatever his father could say.

It was worth it, though. Mikey would get the help he needed to make sure nothing happened to him again. If having their parents find out about the relationship he was preparing himself to end was what it took to protect Mikey then fine. That was a decision Gerard was comfortable making…

“Is it true?” His dad asked, sounding so disappointed and so fucking helpless. Gerard felt bad for ruining his dad’s day. Gerard kept his head low and his back to him, glancing at all of the pictures on his walls and feeling horribly exposed and vulnerable. This was the same as being bound to the bleachers and left behind with his clothes ripped off… He couldn’t escape and the damage had already been done. “Gerard…Come on, just talk to me, alright?” Gerard began to shake worse because he didn’t trust his father’s tone. 

He sounded like he wanted to know, like he wasn’t going to get mad…Gerard knew better. His dad would start off that way, yeah, but once he started talking, the older man would jump down his throat about everything, make him feel terrible, stupid…worthless…

Subconsciously, Gerard began to rub at his wrist through the sleeve of the sweater he’d changed into when he’d gotten home after leaving school early. He could feel the sting as the scabs on his cuts were rubbed off by the thin layer of bandages and he began to bleed.

His father noticed the action and grabbed his arm, making Gerard turn to face him though he didn’t have to use much force. Gerard was being submissive, just not open. He didn’t want to talk about it, and he probably wasn’t ready to, but he had to now. 

“You cut yourself again?” Gerard looked at his father sadly, holding his arms to his chest as if it would stop his dad from grabbing them, pushing back the sleeves, and examining the wounds. “Gerard, I told you to stop that.”

“I can’t stop,” Gerard mumbled, looking down at the floor. “It’s the only thing that makes me feel better.” 

“Hurting yourself makes you feel better?” There was no skepticism in the words, making Gerard’s defenses drop just a little. It was like his dad really wanted to understand this time.

“It’s…different,” Gerard mumbled. “It’s…It’s like—no. No, just never…never mind.” Gerard turned away again, feeling embarrassed and stupid. 

“Gerard, come on. What is it like? Is it like hurting yourself because you did something you felt was wrong, or…” 

“Sometimes,” Gerard said quietly. He didn’t want to discuss this. He didn’t want scrutinized like this. 

“And the other times?”

“Dad, it doesn’t matter, okay?”

“Yes it does, Gerard!”

“It’s just a habit. I’ll stop…you won’t have to worry about it again.” 

“You just said you couldn’t stop.”

“I’ll fucking try!” Gerard spat. “I don’t want to talk about it!”

“Let me see your arm then. We won’t have to talk about it.”

“Why do you want to see?” Gerard asked, pulling his arms up to his chest defensively. 

“I want to see what you’re doing to yourself.”

“No…” Gerard stumbled backwards when his dad reached for him, honestly attempting to do what Gerard had feared. Touching him, pulling at his clothes even if it was just to expose the skin of his arm, it was the same as stripping him. Gerard didn’t like it. 

“Gerard. Come on. Stop it.”

“I said no!” Gerard exclaimed, backing up again. “Don’t touch me! I don’t want you to touch me!” To Gerard’s immense surprise—and relief—his father listened and backed a step away.

“Alright. Fine. I won’t look.” Gerard relaxed a little and glanced around the floor of his room vacantly. “Will you tell me about this teacher Mikey was talking about?” Gerard’s shoulders sagged as he thought of what to say. “Don’t bother if you’re just going to lie.” His dad threw his hands up a little and started as if to leave to go back upstairs. 

Gerard sobbed once, hard, as the abandonment flooded him.

“That’s it?” Gerard snapped. “Why waste time pretending like you actually care? You’re just as bad as them, Dad! You’re just like them!” His father turned back around and looked at him sympathetically. Gerard didn’t believe him. “God, you don’t even love me at all!”

“Gerard,” his father said, his face widening with hurt.

“You don’t!” Gerard said with a soft cry. “You don’t. You don’t…How could you?” Gerard covered his face with his hands and sobbed despite himself. He didn’t want to cry like this in front of his dad, but he couldn’t hold it back anymore. 

“Gerard…” He took a step forward, attempting to offer his shaking son an embrace, but Gerard snapped and back away, the backs of his knees hitting his bed and dropping him onto it.

“Don’t touch me! I don’t want you touching me!” His eyes looked feral, no trust in them at all, leaving his father to wonder what he’d done that had hurt him so badly. 

“Gerard, relax. I’m not going to do anything to hurt you. I’m not mad at you.” Gerard looked away, indicating instantly that he thought his father was lying. “I’m not! I’m worried. I want to know who this teacher is. Don’t try to hide it.” Gerard said nothing, just stared at the floor. “Mikey said it was your art teacher…Are you in love with him?”

“I was,” Gerard mumbled.

“Why’d you stop?” Gerard didn’t answer. “Did—”

“He wouldn’t say he loved me…” Gerard admitted in a small voice. “I thought he just didn’t want to say it because he could…could show it. But then today…” Gerard traced the floor with his eyes hectically, not wanting to say but not wanting to keep it inside anymore. “He said it…and then he tried to get me to do things and I didn’t want to. He did the same thing ye-yesterday… He was mad that I…that I hurt myself.” Gerard fidgeted and pulled his sleeves further down his wrists. “It was confusing because the first time I was with him he tried to comfort me when he saw what I did to myself…then this time he got mad. I don’t understand…He said he loves me…”

“He doesn’t love you, Gerard,” his father said, staring at his son with pain and empathy. 

“F-Frank said he loves me, too.”

“Do you sleep with Frank?” His dad asked, looking away from Gerard.

“No,” Gerard said accusingly. “I wouldn’t cheat on…my teacher.”

“Gerard, you don’t plan to go back to this man, do you?” He looked back at Gerard who stared at the floor.

“On the third time we were together, he blindfolded me and stuck the handle of a knife inside my body…then he tried to rape me…then he told me that if I didn’t suck him off he was going to tell the school about my cuts and suggest that they put me away in an institute somewhere where they could watch me because I’m a danger to myself… I don’t want to see him anymore.” His father stared at him and tried to process the information.

“Gerard, I want to press charges on him.”

“No. I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

“Gerard…”

“No.”

“He’s just going to keep trying to—”

“I don’t care.”

“Gerard!”

“I want to go to Frank’s house now...”

“No. Not right now, Gerard. Why do you think I’d let you leave now?”

“Because Frank helps me! He makes me feel better…”

“Does he know about your teacher?” His father asked with a sarcastic tone that made Gerard’s lips curl in disgust.

“He told Mikey,” Gerard snapped. 

“He told Mikey,” his father said, as if in approval. 

“I want to go to Frank’s,” Gerard repeated. 

“Fine,” his father answered, giving in. “Go. Be back before ten.” Gerard stared at him for a moment as if in disbelief. Really, it had been that easy? “We’ll talk more tomorrow. I want Mikey to stay home from school. You should stay with him.” 

Gerard stood up warily and started slowly towards the stairs. When his dad didn’t say anything more, he gained his confidence and disappeared upstairs where he could still hear his mother crying.


	12. My Off-and-On Romance

She woke up to someone knocking furiously on her front door, and rubbed at her eyes as she stood up from the couch stiffly. She probably would have been more annoyed about being woken up if she wasn’t sure that it was only a little bit past nine O’clock at most…Passing a glance towards the staircase, wondering—but not complaining about—why the boys had gotten so quiet, she unlocked the front door of her house.

Maybe they’d decided to go out while she was asleep and had gotten themselves locked out. But that type of irresponsibility didn’t sound like Frank…oh well, though. Everyone has his moments, perhaps he was too preoccupied with trying to get Gerard to calm down to remember to grab his house key off of the rack.

She gasped and backed a step away from the screen door when she saw a larger man standing on her porch steps instead of the boys she’d been expecting. She pressed a hand to her chest to calm herself when the recognition hit her and she opened the screen door to let the father of her son’s friend inside.

“You’re here early,” she said, chuckling a little to herself as she slowed her breathing. Honestly, didn’t she know better than to open the door without checking first to see who was there? “I told Gerard I was going to give him a ride home so he wouldn’t have to walk.” When the man’s face didn’t change from its stern expression, she tilted her head a little to the side. “What’s the matter?”

“What time did he tell you I wanted him home?”

“Well…ten, I think…Isn’t that right?” His face contorted with confusion and he looked at her skeptically. “You’re here early,” she said again. “It’s only about—”

“It’s eleven,” the man said firmly. She glanced towards the clock across the way and stared at it in confusion, as if she believed it to be lying to her.

“Oh…I’m sorry, I promised Gerard a ride…” Then her eyes widened and she looked up the stairs. “I fell asleep on the couch, they might have left. If they didn’t make it home…” A mother sick with worry was not a force to reckon with. Gerard’s father merely followed her as she practically sprinted up the stairs. “Frank?” She pushed open her son’s bedroom door and nearly collapsed with relief when she saw him. Frank sat up in the bed, pulling his arm out from beneath the head of his friend who still stayed unconscious. 

“Mom? Is everything okay?” He turned his head groggily to look at the alarm clock on the windowsill by his bed. “Shit! Mom, why didn’t you wake us up? Gerard’s going to get in so much trouble! His—” Frank’s face paled when Gerard’s father stepped into the doorway of his room.

Frank pulled his blanket further up Gerard’s bare shoulder and leaned over top of him protectively. He glanced away from the doorway to the shirt, sweater, and pants tossed onto his bedroom floor…

Well, didn’t this look terrible…

Gerard’s father followed Frank’s gaze and narrowed his eyes further. 

“What the hell did you do to him?” Gerard’s father asked bitterly, taking a step into the room. Frank stiffened and drew back a little, touching Gerard’s shoulder gently in a half-hearted attempt to wake him up. He didn’t know if it was a good idea to have Gerard conscious for the fight that was brewing, but the last thing he wanted was for him to have to wake up to shouting.

“He was showing me his cuts, alright? He was just showing me where he cuts.” Frank glanced at his mother for support, but she didn’t respond. It pissed him off that she apparently thought of him as a person heartless enough to try to fuck someone who had just been having a nervous breakdown…

“Oh, and he needs to take his pants off for that?”

“You’re an idiot!” Frank spat. “You think the only place he cuts is his arms?” Gerard’s father tried to speak, but Frank spoke overtop of him, not necessarily loudly, but harshly. “You yelled at him last time you found out—you didn’t help him! You yelled at him! He didn’t get any better! He did the same things, he just hid it from you even more! He cut worse! I’m surprised he’s still alive!” Gerard stirred on the bed and scooted closer to Frank, sighing softly in his sleep. Frank gently wiped the hair out of Gerard’s face and forced himself to calm back down. “He can’t take much more, so if you’re angry, just save it. He _really_ can’t take any more…”

“Get him up and get him dressed. I’ll wait for him downstairs,” Gerard’s father said with his firm tone faltering, turning away and descending the stairs. Frank’s mother passed an apologetic look to her son. 

“I’m sorry. I fell asleep downstairs and he just showed up.” Frank just stared at her with mixed anger and disappointment. He knew it wasn’t her fault, but it didn’t make him feel any better. “I’ll go keep him company…” She turned away, closed the door behind her, and went back downstairs.

Frank sighed and leaned down to kiss Gerard’s cheek, stroking his hair gently until the other boy awoke. When he did, he smiled and cuddled closer to Frank, adoring the attention.

“You gotta wake up,” Frank said softly.

“No,” Gerard cried playfully, cuddling closer. Frank laughed softly and wrapped an arm over Gerard. 

“You’ve got to. You’re dad’s downstairs.” Gerard grunted in dissatisfaction and began sitting up. 

“Why?”

“Mom fell asleep, and we fell asleep, and it’s like…eleven.”

“In the morning?” Gerard asked, sniffing away the grogginess of sleep.

“At night, Gee.”

“Oh…Is he mad? My dad?” Gerard looked at Frank nervously and Frank glanced away.

“He wasn’t happy that your clothes are on my floor.” Gerard looked towards the small clump of fabric on the floor and blushed slightly.

“My dad thinks I’m a slut…” Gerard mumbled, shaking his head and erasing the crimson from his cheeks before climbing out of the bed to get dressed.

“I don’t think that’s what he—”

“I _am_ a slut…”

“Gerard,” Frank said, more sadly than firmly. “Please don’t say things like that about yourself.” Gerard pulled his jeans on in silence. “Gerard?” Still keeping his words to himself, Gerard began to pull on his t-shirt and sweater. “Gerard, baby, please…come here.” With a sigh, Gerard obeyed, going back over to the bed and looking at Frank with emotionally dead eyes—eyes which admitted that he had no more strength and that he was on the verge of giving up the next time something went wrong.

Frank moved on the bed to be closer to Gerard, sitting on his knees at the edge of the bed and stretching himself up until he could reach Gerard’s lips. He kissed them softly, trying to put as much affection into the brief contact as he could. Gerard needed love, and Frank had more than enough to give.

“You’re dad doesn’t think that about you, okay?” Gerard shrugged his shoulders and looked away towards the floor.

“I wish he’d just let me stay the night here,” Gerard whispered. “I can’t look at Mikey or Mom…”

“Why?” Frank asked, moving to sit on the edge of the bed with his feet dangling over the side. He touched the mattress beside him, inviting Gerard to sit down. He obeyed. “Why can’t you look at Mikey? I promise he’s not mad that you told—he got his revenge, didn’t he?”

“It’s not that,” Gerard muttered. “I don’t care if he spends the rest of his life hating me for telling Mom and Dad. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t. If he won’t stick up for himself then I will.”

“Then what is it?” Frank rubbed Gerard’s back gently.

“It’s my fault,” Gerard mumbled. “It’s my fault that they hurt Mikey. When they…when they had me…” Gerard took in a shaking breath and looked up in an attempt to stop his tears from forming. “They threatened that they would hurt Mikey. I didn’t think to warn him, I—I didn’t…didn’t go with him back to the school—now look what happened. I should’ve been there! I should have protected him, and I failed… It’s my fault. Mom knows it’s my fault.” Gerard dropped his head into his hands and began to sob, leaving Frank feeling as helpless as he had earlier that night, when the weight of the entire world had fallen on Gerard’s shoulders and made him collapse.

“Gerard, it wasn’t your fault—it wasn’t anyone’s fault, okay?” Frank embraced Gerard gently, trying to offer comfort which Gerard shrugged away.

“Mikey will blame me—he’ll _hate_ me!”

“Gerard, Mikey probably blames himself. He needs you right now. You know he won’t ever let anyone else close enough to him to talk about this. As terrible as it is, you’re the only one he can relate to. He needs you.” Gerard made a choked sound and lifted his head, glancing towards the closed bedroom door and remembering that he had to leave. “You can’t just leave him…”

“But what about Mom and Dad? They know I’m the reason he left school early and had to go back…They know I should’ve been with him!”

“Gerard, your parents won’t blame you,” Frank tried to reassure.

“And Dad’s going to want to talk about my teacher,” Gerard whimpered. “I can’t do it…”

“You have to.”

“I can’t, though! I can’t! It’s my fault! Everything bad that happened is entirely my fault!” Frank shushed him then, preventing him from falling back into the feverish state he’d been in before.

Frank touched Gerard’s hand and then moved to hold it, squeezing it gently and smiling when Gerard squeezed back.

“How can you love me? I’m so disgusting,” Gerard sobbed. Frank’s heart sank and all he could think to do was lean his head on Gerard’s shoulder.

“Gerard, you’re being so hard on yourself…why?”

“Gerard!” Gerard flinched when his father called for him and then sobbed harder, starting to shake.

“I can’t…he hates me!”

“Gerard, stop,” Frank sighed, pulling Gerard into another embrace and stroking his hair. “You need to talk to your dad. Come on, you have to go home. I’ll come see you tomorrow.” Frank stood up from the bed and took Gerard’s hand to pull him back up from the mattress. It took a few more hugs and two gentle kisses for Gerard to finally calm down enough to leave the room and face his father.

( ) ( ) ( )

The instant they pulled into the driveway, Gerard broke down into loud sobs again after being silent the whole ride, scaring the hell out of his father who missed the brake pedal and hit the gas. Luckily, he caught himself in time to avoid smashing through part of the house, and also managed to keep himself from shouting out for Gerard to stop crying. Not because he meant it, or because he really was irritated by it—he was just trying to keep it together himself and hearing Gerard fall apart wasn’t helping. 

“You really can’t take any more, can you…” his father mumbled after turning off the engine and leaving the car silent except for his son’s stifled sobs. Gerard shook his lowered head and hunched his shoulders protectively around himself. “It’s okay, Gerard.” After saying that, he was at a loss. He didn’t know what Gerard was crying about. Whether it was what had happened between him and his teacher or what had happened to Mikey… The only thing he could think to do was address both at once and hope that he was right, just so that he could offer some sort of comfort. It was hard to watch his son die in front of him like this… “You’re not in trouble for anything. You know that, right? Your mom and I aren’t mad at you for what’s been happening. Everyone makes mistakes, and sometimes bad things happen that you can’t prepare for.”

“I knew what was going to happen to Mikey,” Gerard choked out, leaning forward in his seat and covering his mouth with his hands. His eyes darted from the windshield to the passenger side window anxiously, bloodshot and teary. 

“Gerard…”

“I knew that they were planning to do it. They told me…”

“When did they tell you this?” His father asked, trying to decide whether it was Gerard’s guilt talking or if he was actually confessing something true. Gerard began to sob harder and closed his eyes tightly before covering his entire face with his hands again.

“You know the night I didn’t come home?” Gerard sobbed loudly. His father swallowed hard and braced himself for whatever horror story Gerard had left to depict. “After school they tied me to the bleachers and when I fought they said they’d hurt Mikey next.”

“They…they tied you to the…bleachers, Gerard?” Gerard nodded weakly and then shook his head.

“They raped me and left me there all alone and I blacked out. Dad, I was so scared!” Gerard made eye contact with his father for the first time and began to shake harder before almost instantly looking away. He saw what he’d been afraid to see—anger.

“God, what the hell’s been happening these last months? How can we help you if you don’t _talk?_ Jesus Christ, Gerard…” He covered his face and sighed into his hands, trying to block out the sounds of Gerard’s broken tears and wishing this was all some kind of nightmare. This couldn’t be his life…this was some late night news special. Two sons, both were raped, one was suicidal and had had an affair with his teacher, that one was an emotional wreck, and the other was a detached machine. This kind of thing…just wasn’t real… 

They sat in silence for what had been a half and hour at least before Gerard stopped crying and his father felt comfortable trying to speak to him again. 

“When you say that they raped you, you mean they—uh—they did what they did to Mikey?” Gerard shook his head slowly. 

“No.” His father exhaled slowly, the answer like a punch to the stomach. “How…how many of them were there?” Gerard made a discontented sound.

“About four…”

“And they all…”

“Yes,” Gerard answered quickly, willing the conversation to end quickly. His father picked up on his reluctance to speak of it anymore and changed the topic. It wasn’t an easier topic, but it was different.

“Gerard…why did you start seeing your teacher? Did…Did he…did you like him before?”

“I didn’t think about him before,” Gerard answered nervously. 

“Why did you start to?” Gerard didn’t answer. “I’m sorry if I ask too much. I just want to know what happened.”

“My art was bad,” Gerard mumbled. “I wanted to draw things, but they didn’t mean anything…I couldn’t express what I was feeling and…and he said he’d show me how to get the passion back… I was in love with Frank and I thought—thought he had a girlfriend and I was hurt. I wanted someone to love me.” Gerard’s shoulders dropped heavily and he glanced at his father. “Barlow said he wanted to make me feel better.” Gerard paused, waiting to hear some harsh comment from his dad. It never came. “He made me feel safe when I was with him, until he hurt me. He didn’t like it when I was happy because my artwork wasn’t deep enough.” There was no mistaking the bitterness in his words. “That was the day he…h-he…”

“You don’t have to say it, Gerard,” his father reassured. “Don’t torture yourself.” Gerard sniffed and looked at his father with some relief. 

“Frank says he’ll never do things like that to me…” It was obvious that Gerard found comfort in those words. His posture relaxed a little and he sighed softly, some of the tension even leaving his face.

“Gerard, I know you care a lot about Frank, and I can tell he’s worried about you—he really stuck up for you earlier—” It almost made him grin when he saw the way Gerard’s face lit up at the words. “But I don’t think that what you need right now is another relationship.” Even that didn’t wipe the new light out of Gerard’s eyes. In fact, it was as if Gerard had chosen not to hear it.

“What did Frank say?” Gerard asked, obviously happy, but not quite smiling.

“He just wanted to make sure I didn’t yell at you for anything…cleared some things up.” Gerard grinned slightly at the thought of Frankie keeping him protected from his dad.

“Frank’s nice,” Gerard mumbled, still with a small smile. “And he’s not mad at me about what happened…”

“Gerard, no on here is mad at you.” Gerard sighed and stared at the front door of the house. “Though I am upset that you didn’t trust us enough to tell …and I really wish you’d consider pressing charges on that asshole who thought he had the right to touch you.” The instant the words were out of his mouth, he saw Gerard’s eyes turn bitter. 

“You know what I think…every time I have to sit next to you at dinner?” His father waited for some harsh statement, a cruel insult in response to the statement that Gerard obviously viewed as a personal attack. 

“What, Gerard?” He asked when Gerard didn’t say anything. The words must have been awful, because Gerard seemed to be having trouble speaking them. 

“I think about how easy it would be for you to overpower me and make me do the things that they made me do…And no matter how hard I try, I can’t think of a reason that you wouldn’t, because a fuck is all I’m good for.” He would have continued to think that this was just a snotty remark meant to hurt him if Gerard hadn’t turned to look at him with uncertainty and pain. It killed him to know that his son truly thought he was capable of such a horrific thing, and that he needed reassurance to think otherwise.

“Gerard, I would _never_ do that to you,” he responded, his pain audible. Gerard looked away and began to rub at his wrists once again. 

“Why?” Gerard asked.

“You’re my son! I love you! I would never want to do anything to hurt you!” Gerard didn’t look satisfied with the answer. “Gerard,” his father pleaded desperately, the pain in his chest magnifying. “Gerard…”

Gerard stared at the front door of the house for what felt like an hour before he was called back to awareness by the sound of his father’s sob. He turned to look in his father’s direction, trying to decide if he’d actually heard what he’d thought and, if he did, was it just a ploy to gain his sympathy. The way his father tried to cover up his tears by furiously wiping them away and turning his face away to the driver’s side window, Gerard realized that they were real.

“Dad…Dad don’t cry.” Gerard stared at him helplessly, but got no response. “Dad!” Still nothing but his father’s turned head and labored breaths. “Dad, please don’t be angry at me! I’m sorry…” Gerard whimpered and moved to unfasten his seatbelt, wishing that he’d just kept his sick thoughts and terrors to himself. He started to open his door, preparing to leave—whether or not he would enter the house or flee down the street was still in the process of being decided when his father grabbed him by his wrist and pulled him back.

Gerard screamed the way a person would in a horror film as he was drug closer to his father, in the end being forced to lean over the storage compartment that separated the front two seats and then embraced. He struggled for a moment, but then surrendered and stilled, allowing his face to be buried against his father’s chest in a way that almost made it impossible to breathe.

“Gerard, I’d never do that,” his father sobbed was Gerard caught himself and began to relax. “It’d kill me if I lost you—I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you!” Gerard didn’t say anything, he just shivered and then lifted his arms in order to hug back. Something felt right about this…about being held this way by a parent. In his _soul_ he felt like nothing bad could come of it. He felt safe, even though it was just for the moment. His dad would protect him from anything, and he knew it. He felt it now when he didn’t before. He wanted it to stay this way, but he knew it couldn’t last. 

Soon, his father would want to pursue Barlow, and, soon, Gerard would refuse to help…

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey had his way, because in the end, Mikey _always_ has his way. Though both of their parents were going practically insane, both Gerard and Mikey only missed one day of school before returning. Mikey insisted that there was nothing they could do to pursue the jocks—there was no evidence, it would just be their word against theirs. The only thing that could be done—Mikey had their father convinced—was wait until another attack happened, a beating or some _other_ type of assault. 

This time, some evidence would have to be saved. A witness’s testimony… DNA…anything.

Their father seemed pacified by this, even though he hated the idea of waiting around. He didn’t realized that neither of his sons would ever be willing to allow any evidence to _ever_ turn up. Each for their own personal reasons—Gerard’s insecurities and Mikey’s half-shame-half-apathy.

As for the case of Barlow and his affair with Gerard, Gerard was being exceptionally difficult. He didn’t want his father involved, he didn’t want the law involved, courts, and juries, and lawyers…news reports and TV interviews… The last thing he wanted was to have the world know he’d let his teacher fuck him in the ass. 

If he ever did get anywhere with his life—acquire any recognition for anything, his artwork or music—those court documents and newspaper articles would hover over his head and shame him.

His father wasn’t content with staying uninvolved. Neither was his mother, but he had them lying still for the moment, giving him some time to come up with a permanent solution.

One was suicide, but that could only be seen as a last resort… In the meantime, he’d come up with just the threat of suicide like he’d used on Mikey. That, though, he didn’t think would work. His parents would take the threat too seriously—perhaps as seriously as necessary—and would do what Barlow had threatened to suggest. Lock him away somewhere to be monitored…constantly, without regard for his shyness or feelings…

For now, those two things were all Gerard had come up with… He had approximately another day and a half—at most—to think up something better.

It was hard to think of that, though, when he was trying to avoid seeing his teacher without looking like he didn’t want seen. He now knew what horrid things Barlow was capable of…he didn’t want to know what the man would do to him if he found out he’d told…Found out that he was in danger…

Was he capable of murder? Did it matter?

Yes, Gerard decided. It did fucking matter because someone needed to be around to keep Mikey safe from those bastards who thought they had the right to lay their Goddamned hands on him.

Two of them were in Gerard’s second period class, and they’d easily caught him glaring murderously in their direction. He wasn’t afraid of making eye contact with them the way he had been before, not wanting to attract their attention…now, he wanted their attention because he wanted an excuse to kill them.

They weren’t aware of that…they didn’t know what he was planning in the beautifully dark corners of his mind. They didn’t know what horrific things he was capable of…Did they really believe that he would let them get away with what they’d done? Just thinking about them touching Mikey, let alone hitting Mikey or even daring to _think_ of raping Mikey made his blood scald his veins.

They would pay…someday, somehow, they would fucking pay…

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey was on his way to lunch when they sprung on him, cornering him in plain sight with only threats to back them since teachers were all around. He’d wanted to leave class early again, to get to Gerard to protect him from Barlow—to make sure nothing was happening to him—but his teacher wouldn’t let him leave early this time. He was stuck waiting the unbearable three minutes for the class to end, and now he was going to be even later because of these assholes…

“You fucking tell your brother something, fag?” The blonde asked as he shoved Mikey hard against the lockers, making pain shoot up his back as the handles of the lockers dug into him.

“So what if I did?” Mikey asked, his voice robotic and cold. His face was expressionless, irritating the jocks further. Behind the blonde the three others stood. They had no use for him—to them he was nothing, they were interested in Gerard…probably saw him as their property now as far as Mikey was concerned.

The blonde grabbed his by his shoulders again and slammed him against the lockers once more. A pack of girls drifted by, all eyeing him with mixed humor and false empathy. Behind them, another girl walked by, with dark hair and dark eyes. She caught his gaze and then tilted her chin up, not breaking her eye contact with him. 

Mikey watched her closely until she’d passed out of sight. That gesture, that lifted chin, what did it mean? Good luck? Sorry? (Though her eyes didn’t look apologetic…) Have fun? Hey?... _What_ did it mean?...

_What_ did it matter?...

Again he was slammed, calling his attention back to the heartless eyes of the blonde hockey player.

“What the fuck were you thinking, fag? Think we’d let you get away with that?” He spat, getting his face within centimeters of Mikey’s.

“Maybe I did,” Mikey said, shrugging and absentmindedly brushing a piece of lint off of his shoulder. The blonde moved his hand to press on Mikey’s throat, easily reaching from once side of it to the other in order to squeeze. Still, Mikey kept alarmingly clam.

“You’re not getting’ away with it. And neither is he,” the blonde hissed. “You better watch it, because next time we get you, it’ll be _both_ of you.”

“Look forward to it,” Mikey said, still calm, still apathetic…The blonde growled and shoved him back one last time before turning away. Perhaps it really was like they always said—if you were boring, if you didn’t react, they left you well enough alone before too long…

Either that or they wanted food before it was all gone. 

Their absence reminded Mikey of what was important…finding Gerard and making sure no one had touched him.

He rounded the corner to climb the stairs to the second floor but collided with the girl who stared at him absently…but not _too_ absently. She had thoughts in her head, many, many thoughts. She just wasn’t willing to share them yet.

Mikey tried to step around her, but she grabbed his arm as he passed. It wasn’t a firm hold, it was a suggestion. 

“Stay here,” she seemed to propose, “or keep walking.” Mikey stared up at the top of the stairs in confliction. Gerard could be in some sort of trouble…but maybe Gerard needed to handle his problems himself…

After all, Mikey couldn’t escort him from art class to lunch for the rest of the year… He’d gotten himself into this mess with Barlow. Maybe he needed to clean it up on his own.

( ) ( ) ( )

“You’re not leaving me, Gerard,” Barlow said, hovering over Gerard who had collapsed onto the floor of the art room’s closet in a fit of tears. He stooped down and caressed Gerard’s wet cheek gently before leaning in to kiss him gently on the lips. 

“Please let me go,” Gerard whimpered. “I can’t do this anymore. I-I love someone else. He’s special to me…”

“Shh. You’re just confused. Let me lay it out for you so you can see how it is—black and white.” Barlow forced his hand between Gerard’s legs and squeezed, extracting a loud sob from Gerard. When Gerard gave no indications of melting into the touch, Barlow switched up his tactics… “Come on, Gerard. You know it’s what you want.”

“It’s not!” Gerard sobbed, pushing back against the shelves and trying to find his legs to stand.

“Yes, Gerard, it is. It’s what you’ve _always_ wanted. You know you like it, but if you want to play hard to get, I can play rough. Fine. Just remember, you brought it on yourself.”

“No, I—no!” Gerard slammed his head back into the shelf behind him, not knowing how else to react to the hands that were already working at his belt and the button of his pants. “Stop,” he sobbed, knowing he should have skipped the class, knowing he should have left the room faster…knowing he should have fought harder when he was dragged into the closet. It was his fault this was happening, entirely his fault…

Barlow had a knack for this, for finding some strange way to keep Gerard pinned just long enough to strip off his lower layer of clothes. Once the clothes were off though, Gerard struggled a little less, his energy drained and his determination shot. 

What _did_ it matter? Who cared if he took it up the ass willingly or by force? It was all the same. It was all he was good for. He deserved this…he asked for this.

Submissively, he raised his thighs and spread his legs, pressing his face more firmly against the tile floor. He listened through silent tears to the condom wrapper rippling and being crumpled and gently set aside to be tended to later.

“Finally giving in, hmm, Gerard?” Gerard whimpered softly in response as two lubricated fingers pushed into him at once. “Good. We don’t have time waste, do we?” He thrust the fingers in several times and then hastily replaced them. Gerard moaned softly in pain and pressed his face harder against the floor.

He wanted to break, he could feel the cracks forming, but he held it together. Mikey needed him sane. Mikey needed him. He had to stay strong, just for a few minutes longer.

Barlow had been a mistake, but it was one Gerard knew he would have to live with. Let Barlow have him this one last time, let him get his fill and think he was safe for a day longer…

He’d get it. Soon he’d get it…

Gerard groaned in pain as Barlow’s pace became harsh and quick. His insides burned as his teacher abused him, no longer offering affection or kisses, no longer whispering heartwarming words. His lack of attention filled Gerard with bitterness and hate—an emotion he was discovering that he had more than enough of to go around. 

Barlow pulled out when he’d finished and slapped Gerard’s left thigh painfully before removing the condom and tying it off. He moved away to bury the item in a sandwich bag which he thoughtless stuffed into Gerard’s shoulder bag before looking over his student with critical eyes.

Gerard had allowed his thighs to drop back down and lifted his head. He looked at his teacher with intentionally sad eyes. Gerard didn’t feel sad, no, not at all. He was angry, so angry it almost made him smile as he thought about the revenge he wanted to have.

“Better get going, Gerard.” Gerard kept his eyes on Barlow as he pulled back on his pants and shoes. Against his intentions, Barlow caught the odd look in his eyes and his demeanor immediately changed. “Gerard…you said before that your mother—”

“Mom’s worried about Mikey,” Gerard answered, getting to his feet without hindrance. “I’m hungry, so I’m going to go.” He grabbed his shoulder bag and pushed past his teacher, unlocking the closet door and rushing out into the empty classroom.

“Gerard!” Gerard didn’t stop. He made it to the door of the classroom, twisted its lock and fled into the hall.

Mikey wasn’t there, even though he was now definitely late for lunch… It made him a little bit sad, but then he decided that it was better to feel worried. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard walked home from school with Mikey, keeping his eyes on his brother at every moment. Several times Mikey had muttered irritated comments about the feelings of eyes burning into the back of his head, but Gerard didn’t answer.

The door was unlocked when they got home, and once they were inside the house their father seemed to materialize before them, blocking both of their paths to their bedrooms. He didn’t need to say anything. They both knew what he wanted, even though they were surprised that he’d obviously left work early in order to find out. They knew what questions he had…

“I met a girl today, got called a fag…that’s about it,” Mikey said, pushing past his father and not stopping when the hand landed on his shoulder.

“Met a girl?” His dad asked. Gerard inclined his head as well, curious about why Mikey didn’t say anything to him…then again, he hadn’t asked.

Mikey shrugged the hand off and skulked off to his room, slamming his bedroom door behind him. Their father’s eyes turned onto Gerard and he stiffened suddenly, tightening his hold on his shoulder bag. How was he supposed to burry that thing at the bottom of the trashcan when his dad was home? 

His father caught his motion and looked at him suspiciously. Gerard looked towards the doorway that led down to his bedroom.

“Um…Talked to Frank, got called a fag…that’s it?” Gerard said, looking back at his father who was now glaring at him. Even though his dad couldn’t have possibly known about the condom hidden in his bag, he still pushed the bag behind him to hide it from his father’s attention.

The action had the adverse effect.

“Give it to me,” his dad said firmly, holding out his hand expectantly. Gerard knew immediately what he’d meant.

“What, you’re going to search my bag?” He asked, forcing on a snotty tone and tightening his grip on the strap of the bag.

“Yes. Now.”

“Why?” Gerard asked, narrowing his eyes. “What did I do?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to find out.” His father kept his face stern.

“What happens when you don’t find anything?” Gerard spat, feeling as wronged as he would have if he didn’t have anything to hide. “You fucking strip search me then?” He spat. His father didn’t respond, just continued to gesture for Gerard to hand over his bag. “Then what? You—you…you rape me!” He’d almost expected that to work…

Apparently that wasn’t such a sensitive issue anymore Gerard discovered as his father grabbed him and then yanked his bag away, nearly sending his oldest son to the floor in the process. 

“Dad!” Gerard called as his father immediately started ripping the books out of the bag and letting them drop to the floor. Gerard watched helplessly, starting to move to grab the bag back and stopping himself each time… “Dad…please st—” Gerard shut his mouth and turned his head away when his father found the sandwich bag and tossed the shoulder bag onto the floor.

“What’s this?” That wasn’t question his dad was asking, although that’s what he said… “Whose is this” was what he was really asking.

“Frank and I…” Gerard was cut short when his father slapped him. 

“You don’t lie to me about this!” His father shouted with an intensity that even drew Mikey back out of his room. 

“Dad,” Mikey said softly, cringing. His father didn’t listen. He tossed the bag onto a nearby shelf and grabbed Gerard by the shoulders, attempting to get him to look him in the eye. When that didn’t work, he moved his hands to the sides of Gerard’s head, forcing it back and knowingly causing pain as he got the desired response.

“You need to quit lying! Why can’t you make it easy, Gerard? Why!?” Gerard started clawing at his father’s hands, trying to get his head free but to no avail. He began to groan softly, staggering a little as his balance suffered from his predicament—being held at an unnatural angle. “Quit lying and tell me what happened today!”

“Th-that’s—It’s not from today!” Gerard argued, still struggling to get free. His father released him just to slap him again, the combined intensity and his already unsteady balance causing him to stumble and almost hit the floor.

“Dad!” Mikey called, looking disgusted and horrified, leaving his room quickly and reaching Gerard’s side. He put a hand on Gerard’s back as he hunched over, recapturing his balance and rubbing his cheekbone where he’d been struck. “Stop…” Mikey locked his eyes with their father whose face was instantly overcome with remorse and grief. “You wanted proof that his teacher’s been hurting him? There it is. Leave Gerard alone.” 

Gerard straightened himself up and offered his father a forgiving look. 

“Can I go to Frank’s?” Gerard asked quietly. He didn’t really wait for an answer before leaving.

( ) ( ) ( )

“Gerard…there’s a cop car in your driveway,” Frank noted as he and Gerard walked back to his house. Gerard flinched and stared ahead of them, his stomach lurching and his heart stilling.

“Oh, shit.” He looked to Frank and then back at the house. “Oh, shit—ah, shit. No.” He raised his hands to fist them in his hair and groaned. “Oh, shit—fuck!” Turning his back to the house, Gerard contemplated running. They both knew why the police were there—to ask him questions about his teacher…or force him to go to the police station in order to ask him questions and catch it all on camera…

“Just stay calm,” Frank said, stroking Gerard’s back and looking up at him worriedly. “Don’t panic. Relax.”

“Frank, I can’t do this! I can’t!”

“I-I’ll go with you if you think it will help,” Frank offered. “Gerard, you can’t get out of this…I’m sorry, but you have to do what they say.”

“People are going to find out! They’re going to—oh, God, I’m gonna be sick.” Gerard sank down onto the sidewalk, attracting a glance from a couple on the other side of the street.

“Gerard…” Frank sighed and sat down beside him. “He did it again today. He’ll do it tomorrow…He won’t stop.”

“I don’t care! I don’t!” Gerard groaned in distress and hid his face from view.

“Why?” Frank asked, sounding pained.

“I’m embarrassed about it, okay?” Gerard snapped. “I don’t want everyone knowing what I let people do to me!”

“So you’re just going to sit on the sidewalk all night?”

“Quit judging me,” Gerard retorted, passing Frank an irritated glance as he dropped his hands.

“Do you really think I’m judging you?” Frank asked, leaning over to rest his head on Gerard’s shoulder. Gerard sighed heavily.

“I don’t know what they’re going to do with me,” he mumbled. “What if they try to put me in a hospital or something? I know it looks bad, but I’m not going to kill myself. You’ll tell them that if they try, right?” Frank nodded furiously, not wanting to give Gerard time to doubt him. “And you’ll go inside with me?” Gerard looked over his shoulder at the house.

“Yes. Even if they tell me to leave, I won’t go until _you_ tell me to.”

“Okay,” Gerard sighed, slowly standing back up. Frank could see the way his legs shook as he started to walk towards the house, stopping the instant he noticed Frank wasn’t following. Frank got to his feet and met Gerard’s side, taking his hand and squeezing it tightly. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank was certain that his mother would have strangled him if she could somehow reach through the phone. Her complete and utter rage wasn’t something he was used to—mild irritation, yes, frustrated anger, yeah…but not rage. However, it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Especially since he could sympathize with her a little.

He was certain that he would be pretty angry, too, if his son was late home and then the phone rang and the Caller ID read off the number to the police department.

“Mom, I didn’t do anything,” Frank said calmly, waiting for his mother to blow off her steam so that she’d actually start to listen.

“I don’t care if you don’t think you did anything wrong or not! I am not bailing you out!”

“Mom?”

“Maybe you should try calling your father, because I’m not going to put up with us. Misbehaving in school is something I can forgive, but breaking the law, Frank, I won’t condone this.”

“Mom?”

“You’re on your own. Tough love.”

“Mom?”

“ _What?_ ”

“I’m not _in_ jail, I’m _at_ jail. Gerard…” He didn’t want to share Gerard’s business with his mother, but he knew that if she thought he was some sort of convict she’d try anything to terminate their friendship. She wouldn’t want Gerard “corrupting” her already warped son. “You know Gerard’s been upset lately…someone’s been hurting him, and his dad finally got him to agree to press charges…”

“Oh.” His mother didn’t seem to know how to respond since she’d been winding herself up with tough-love speeches and disappointment. 

“I came down here with him as—kind of as emotional support I guess. I just thought I’d call to tell you why I wasn’t home yet so you wouldn’t worry. I would’ve called sooner, but…” 

“How’s Gerard? Is he alright?” Frank glanced over his shoulder at the closed off interrogation room. He didn’t hear any screaming or hysteric crying, so he assumed that everything was going as well as it possibly could.

“Not really…”

“Poor thing—what happened, did you say?”

“Mom, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You didn’t have anything to do with it, did you?”

“No!” His violent denial caused several of the officers’ glances to pass on to him briefly before quickly going back to the work behind their desk—reading files, signing paperwork, answering phones, and typing away on computers. “Mom, he’s my best friend…”

“Do you need me to come pick you up?”

“Actually, Mom, Gerard’s dad asked me to stay the night if—if Gerard’s okay with it. He might just want to be left alone, but I want to be with him if he needs me.”

“That’s fine. Will you come home before school starts, or do you want me to bring over a uniform for you to change into?”

“I’ll come home in the morning. Mom, I gotta go, Gerard’s coming.” He didn’t wait for her to answer. He pushed the phone back on the hook and tried his best not to ambush his best friend as the officer escorted him from the small room. He looked so frail next to the man, and so tired. Frank, though, was happy to see that he wasn’t crying.

The officer began to talk to Gerard’s parents, speaking of legality issues and the value of the evidence—things that had already been covered. Gerard ignored him in favor of approaching Frank, and hugging him tightly the instant he was close enough.

“You okay?” Frank asked. Gerard kissed his cheek gently and held him tighter, as if comforting him instead of it being the other way around.

“They’re going to make me give them a blood sample,” Gerard whined, nuzzling Frank’s cheek and then sighing. 

“Tonight?” Frank patted Gerard’s back gently, looking over Gerard’s shoulder at the officer who was pretending not to notice their intimate embrace. He felt Gerard nod against his cheek in groaned in empathy. “As if you haven’t been through enough tonight…” Frank complained. He was surprised when Gerard chuckled. 

“I’ll be okay if you go in the room with me…promise to keep me distracted?” Gerard pulled back but kept his arms looped around Frank’s waist, leaving Frank’s arms loosely encircling his shoulders. Frank smiled at him gently.

“Promise.”

The officer recalled Gerard’s attention then, informing him and his parents about the hospital they were to go to and what they were to say when they got there. Apparently information had already been faxed over and all that was necessary was entering the little white room, getting one severely marred arm exposed, having a band wrapped around the upper arm, having an alcohol-drenched cotton ball rubbed over a vein, and then watching as the nurse connected the glass phial to the needle, and…

Gerard gagged. Frank pulled back a little from the embrace, but not entirely. Gerard gagged a second time and put the back of his hand to his mouth.

“You okay?” Frank asked. Gerard lowered the hand and nodded, a film of sweat appearing on his brow. His father came over and put a hand on his shoulder, concerned. 

“I’m fine,” Gerard moaned before gagging a third time, covering his mouth with his hand and doubling over as he retched. His dad pulled back, but his concern was still palpable on the air.

“Everything okay?” The officer asked, joining the small cluster forming around Gerard who panted in between dry-heaves. “A panic attack?”

“Gerard’s afraid of needles,” Frank stated bluntly, rubbing Gerard’s back in soothing circles as Gerard tried to keep from vomiting on the floor. He glanced up at the cop whose face mirrored Frank’s thoughts.

Hadn’t Gerard been through enough already?

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank stood outside of the hospital bathroom, listening to Gerard as he alternately gagged and coughed, trying to empty an already vacant stomach. He’d told Frank to stay away for the moment, apparently feeling as though he’d already asked too much of his friend—crushing his hand as the needle was pushed into his flesh outside of his control, his face buried in the crook of Frank’s neck to block out his vision of the horrible act—and pleaded with him to leave him to himself for just the moment…

He didn’t want to leave Gerard alone…not for a moment, not for a _second_. He felt kind of protective, suddenly acknowledging the millions of threats that surrounded them that he needed to keep Gerard safe from. Men in white coats, sick patients in the hospital, careless nurses, televisions not securely attached the walls they hung on. So many dangerous things…

The coughing finally gave way to loud pants and then silence. A toilet flushed, a sink ran, there was another long intermission of silence, and Gerard reappeared. He looked exhausted—skin pale, eyes bloodshot, face drooping, hair askew.

“I just wanna go home,” Gerard moaned, sounding no more upset than a student wishing his school day was over.

“We can, now,” Frank said, offering Gerard a smile and taking his hand as they walked slowly back to the hospital lobby.

“I’m going straight to fucking bed…” Gerard wiped his bangs out of his eyes and sighed loudly.

“Sounds like a good idea.” Frank echoed.

“You’re staying over?” Gerard looked at him and Frank smiled a little brighter.

“If you still want me to.”

“I think I’d cry a little if you didn’t,” Gerard answered, laughing softly and attracting a bizarre look from both of his parents. The last thing they expected him to be doing was laughing.

“Hm, can I sleep in your bed?” Frank mumbled, keeping his voice too low for Gerard’s parents to interpret. Gerard blushed, but that was all. It made Frank wonder if he’d stepped out of bounds.

Instantly, he began mentally kicking himself. Brilliant thing to say to a rape victim—ask to sleep in his fucking bed…

Gerard’s mother made the point to hug him first, making him drop Frank’s hand in order to return to embrace. She held him tightly, like the world was ending, and he returned it with just as much feeling.

Frank had only been watching them for a second before he felt a hand on his shoulder and was forced a step backwards and then made to turn around.

“You touch him and I will rip you apart.” Gerard’s father had never struck Frank as an intimidating man, but he was at that moment. His eyes were a threat, and Frank nearly shivered from the weight of them.

“I don’t want to hurt Gerard,” Frank whispered, making sure his friend didn’t hear. “I care about him as much as you do—”

“No, you don’t.” Frank tried to say more, but was shouldered aside as the father moved to reach his son.

“Dad, don’t be mean to Frank,” Gerard mumbled, passing Frank a sympathetic glance. His father muttered something and Gerard looked at him pained, lowering his voice even more as he responded. His voice so quiet—so _saddened_ —Frank didn’t think he was meant to hear it. “Frank doesn’t feel that way about me. Really, Dad, he doesn’t…” Frank furrowed his brow and tried not to give in to the sinking feeling in his stomach.

Surely, Gerard was just lying to keep his father from trying to come in-between their relationship, right? He didn’t really think that Frank had no deeper feelings for him, right? But then why had Gerard sounded so sad when he’d said it?

Maybe that wasn’t even what they were talking about. Maybe his dad had tried to say that Frank was only around because he felt obligated out of friendship or something like that…

Suddenly, Frank felt as if the world had shifted against him, the way it had shifted against Gerard. Maybe just being close to Gerard warranted the world’s wrath… If that was the case, Frank decided though, flashing Gerard a soft smile, then the world could just bring it the fuck on.


	13. My Harlequin Romance

Gerard rolled over and stared at Frank who was staring at his reflection in the mirror as he straightened out his uniform jacket and rubbed the invisible lint off of its surface. Sleeping over at Frank’s house had become a tri-weekly venture. Monday nights, Wednesday nights, Friday nights…occasionally even spending a weekend—up to four days in a row even—sleeping in his friend’s bed. Gerard liked waking up here. It felt safe. 

No one ever touched him here except for Frank, and even then it was only lengthy embraces and the gentlest of kisses. In some ways, Gerard liked that very much. In others, it made him nervous. 

Their connection was so…so weak. Just hugs, tears, and soft kisses. In a way, it could almost be said that they were like a parent and child… There was the affection that Gerard craved, the attention he needed, but he couldn’t tell if there was more there or not. Frank never said much about it, about them. 

He said “I love you”, but it wasn’t ever obvious whether he meant as a friend, as a brother, or as a lover… At least not to Gerard.

“God this makes me look even fatter,” Frank hissed, most likely to himself. Gerard rolled over again and sat up, finally catching Frank’s eye in the mirror and causing him to turn around with a heavy sigh.

“Fat _ter?_ ” Gerard asked, raising his brow. 

“Let’s be honest, Gerard,” Frank said. “I’m not skinny like you or Mikey. Even _Becky_ admitted that.” Gerard’s face darkened and Frank looked away, turning back to the mirror. 

“She doesn’t know shit,” Gerard hissed, looking away towards the curtain-covered bedroom window. 

“Besides, it’s my turn to be self-conscious, right?”

“No,” Gerard stated, brow furrowed and obviously pouting.

“No?” Frank asked, sounding more than a bit confused. He turned away from the mirror again and attempted to catch Gerard’s gaze.

“No.” Gerard looked back at Frank, his expression fading away to a form of sadness. “I don’t like hearing my Frankie talk about himself like that.” Frank’s cheeks flushed and he turned back to the mirror, brushing more lint off of himself and pulling at the bottom of his jacket without reason.

“Your Frankie?” He asked, his voice—in a way—teasing. Now it was Gerard’s turn to blush, but the mannerisms that followed it made Frank more cautious than playful. Sometimes he surprised himself with his own insensitivity. First it was trying to flirt with a rape victim, now it was calling attention to their non-committed relationship status…almost mocking Gerard with it. Fortunately, though, Gerard always left him with time to fix his mistakes. “Hm. I guess I could be _your_ Frankie, if you wanted. If you can be my Gerard.”

“That’s so fuckin’ corny it’s not even funny,” Gerard muttered, visibly trying not to smile as he began to pick at the blanket on Frank’s bed.

“Aw, but you think it’s cute, right?” Frank moved to get onto the bed beside Gerard, crawling over his lap to kiss him lightly on the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” Gerard admitted, lifting his arms to drape them lazily over Frank’s shoulder’s, crossing his forearms behind Frank’s neck.

“So I’m yours?” Frank asked, winking and crawling a little closer, tempting Gerard to kiss his lips rather than speak an answer. Gerard complied, placing a hand on the back of Frank’s head in order to make the kiss a little deeper. Frank moaned softly and crawled closer, slowly wrapping his arms around Gerard’s shoulders. “I love you, Gee,” Frank sighed as the kiss broke, pulling back just enough to meet Gerard’s eyes as he said it. Gerard smiled softly and then kissed him on the cheek.

“I love you, too. But we have to go to school in…” He paused when he glanced at the clock. “Right now, or else we’re gonna be late.” Frank sighed in protest, but unwound himself from Gerard and stood up from the bed. “I don’t want Mikey to be all alone waiting for us.”

“Ray will be there,” Frank responded as he returned to the mirror in the last attempts to make himself look better to his own standards. Gerard didn’t like the critical way he stared at himself.

“Ray can’t keep Mikey safe,” Gerard mumbled. Frank thought, but didn’t dare say, ‘neither can you’. “I worry, Frank,” Gerard said as he moved off of the bed to stand beside Frank in the mirror. “After what they did to him, he’s all resigned now. He doesn’t tell me anything anymore. Shit could be happening to him, and I won’t ever know!”

“Or nothing could be happening, and he doesn’t _have_ anything to say. Gerard, Mikey never said much to begin with.” Frank offered Gerard a sympathetic glance because he was afraid that he sounded unconcerned—like he didn’t care if Mikey was suffering, because he had Gerard now and that was _all_ that mattered.

“But this is different.” Gerard glanced at the floor. “He won’t even tell me about anything that happens at school…and there’s a girl he likes and he won’t tell me who.”

“Maybe he’s embarrassed.”

“No…It’s like he’s—”

“Maybe she doesn’t like him and he’s afraid you’ll try to get involved.”

“It’s not just the girl! It’s like Mikey doesn’t trust me now!”

“Well, you didn’t trust anyone either after what happened to you. Give him some time to calm back down, Gerard.”

“What if he can’t calm down?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Frank asked, his stamina slowly draining away. He lifted a hand to gently caress Gerard’s cheek, trying to offer comfort and succeeding when Gerard inclined into the touch.

“I think those jocks keep trying to get to him. He doesn’t tell me anything, but I see the looks they pass him in the halls. I don’t know what I’d do if they hurt him again—I might kill them Frank!”

“You won’t kill them,” Frank assured. “But you could always rough them up a little before anything does happen again.” Gerard met Frank’s eyes with a look of confusion.

“What do you mean?” Gerard asked hesitantly. Frank just started to grin.

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey gasped reflexively, but the sound had nowhere to go. He could hardly believe that this was happening _again_. He had been so certain that the last time would have been just that, the _last_ time. In a way, he was surprised that he allowed it to happen once more, just as he’d been startled by the fact that he’d let it happen the first time. Mikey knew where this was all going to lead—where this kissing and touching and, ultimately, _loving_ would lead.

The new girl at the school, Alicia, had managed to seduce him once more…a second time. This setting was a little more intimate although it gave Mikey vaguely bad memories. Though sex underneath the school bleachers was more pleasant than sex in the boys’ restroom, some of the allure was lost since Mikey was aware that he needed to be finished before Gerard panicked because he wasn’t there to be escorted home like a five-year-old.

The last thing he wanted was his older brother stumbling across them and looking at the skin of the girl Mikey wanted to belong only to him. He didn’t so much care if Gerard knew he’d managed to score a girlfriend, he just didn’t want to have to share the sight of her. Alicia was his— _all_ his! His older brother had no right to see anymore of her than her face…

Protectively—defensively—Mikey wrapped his arms around her body and pressed her uncovered breast against his shirt-clad chest while keeping his mouth pressed firmly to her neck, kissing and sucking gently—making sure not to leave a mark, careful not to shame her or stain her. 

He loved her, he thought—not entirely sure about what love felt like or what the symptoms were. All he knew was that she brought him happiness, a means of escape from the tragedies of his world. From the moment he’d seen her pass him in the hall and their gazes had locked, he’d wanted her closer. He’d wanted to know her, inside and out—and he hoped that she felt the same… It seemed like she did…

He loved her, he thought for sure—maybe that was why he suddenly lost control and blurted the suggestion out.

“My brother’s having a friend over for dinner tonight,” he half panted, half sighed. “If you don’t mind fake chicken, you should—ah—come, too.” She laughed softly and ran her hands up from Mikey’s shoulders to the sides of his face, pushing him back a little so their eyes could meet.

“You want me to meet everyone already?” Mikey didn’t answer really; he got distracted by the lips pressing against his once again. He moaned softly began to thrust faster, however making certain not to hurt her the way his brother had been hurt in the very same patch of grass on which they lie.

( ) ( ) ( )

“Dad, just set another spot!” Mikey actually shouted, making everyone in the kitchen stop moving all at once in order to turn and look in his direction. His mother holding a subtly bubbling pot and in the process of carrying it into the dining room, his father grabbing plates out of the cupboard, Gerard holding a piece of bread between his teeth and preparing to grab a cup off of the counter. All frozen in place. Mikey stared at them for a moment, taking in their startled and yet somehow vacant faces and feeling embarrassed. “I invited someone over. It’s not that big of a deal. Goddamn.”

Mikey turned on his heel and stormed back out of the room. Gerard inclined his head and looked after him, but didn’t follow. He gave up grabbing the cup and took the piece of bread out of his mouth.

“I wouldn’t wonder if it’s that girl he was talking about,” their father muttered to himself, sounding both intrigued and worried.

“Do you think so?” Their mother asked curiously, almost hopefully. “I didn’t think he would want us to meet her.”

“You know anything about this?” Gerard looked at his father with paranoia and shook his head. Despite the days that had gone by, he still had an uneasy feeling whenever his dad would command his attention or use a voice too firm. It filled him with guilt to know that his father could perceive that fear—the lack of trust seemed to crush his dad a little more every day. “About the girl?”

“No,” Gerard answered cautiously, dropping the piece of bread onto the counter and trying to make an escape from the room.

“Gerard,” his dad said, not really thinking when allowed his tone to be firm. It was becoming horridly difficult to manage the two now. Mikey wouldn’t speak anymore, and Gerard was teetering on the edge of stability and a downward spiral.

Gerard froze in the doorway, shoulders slowly arching forward. 

“I don’t know anything,” Gerard spat, not waiting for a response before escaping and trying to make a break for his bedroom. He outwardly groaned when Mikey got in his way. “What?” He snapped, feeling cornered and on edge. He wanted Frank here to lean on…to hide behind.

“Gerard, don’t be mad that I invited her over.” Abruptly, Gerard’s emotions shifted as he watched Mikey’s face fall with uncertainty. “I know you wanted to just have Frank over, but I was talking to her after school and I got carried away. I want to spend time with my friends, too. And because of all this shit that’s been happening he won’t let me _go_ anywhere. I thought maybe if she was over here—”

“Mikey, I’m not mad,” Gerard answered quietly, touching Mikey’s arm and indicating for him to follow him down to his room. Mikey complied with a heavy sigh. “Why do you think I’d be mad?” Mikey just shrugged, not as if he was ashamed to answer, but as if he simply didn’t care to. Gerard sighed and trudged over to his bed where he dropped down heavily. “If anything…I’m a little upset.”

“How come?” Mikey asked apathetically—robotically. 

“Because it’s like you don’t trust me!” Gerard blurted out, looking at Mikey sadly as the younger leaned against the doorway to his bedroom. “You never tell me anything anymore—not about this girl...not about why you take so long to meet me after school or the looks those jocks give you in the halls.” Mikey rolled his eyes and groaned, his temper suddenly snapping.

“Gerard…G—No! No, you know what? You know why I take so long after school? Because I’m having sex! Yes! Me! With _her!_ Now will you shut up and quit worrying? Because when you worry, Dad worries, and when he worries, Mom worries—and then they come in my room at night and start asking me if I need to go see a doctor or a fucking shrink! It pisses me off!” Mikey glared at his older brother harshly for several seconds, not even breathing through his sudden rage. Then he seemed to relax again, his eyes turning to the floor and softening before lifting them back up and holding an expression of embarrassment.

Though there were a thousand questions on Gerard’s mind, he decided to let them go. Well…most of them.

“You’re really sleeping with her at school?” Mikey shrugged and looked away towards the wall. 

“Don’t tell Dad about it. You know he’d throw a fit. He’d probably fuckin’…try to put me in some parenting class because he thinks I’m fucking stupid enough to get her pregnant. It’s not like with you and Frank…neither Mom nor Dad care what you do.” Though he couldn’t be sure, Gerard thought he’d heard Mikey add on the words “It fucking isn’t fair”.

“So who is this girl, anyway?” Gerard asked, intentionally shifting the conversation away from Mikey’s suddenly prominent worries. 

“She transferred here a few weeks ago. She’s not in your grade, so I don’t think you’d know her.” Mikey finally slipped away from the doorway and came to sit down beside his older brother on the bed. “She’s…yeah, she’s cute.” Gerard couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard Mikey laugh.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank showed up first, and Gerard felt a terrible pang of grief hit him as Mikey’s girl didn’t arrive, even though dinner was meant to have started half an hour ago. He was afraid of how Mikey would take it if she didn’t come at all…apparently so was their mother since she kept making miniscule mistakes that drew out the preparation time of the meal.

“You seem calm about this,” Gerard hissed to Frank who sat contentedly on the couch.

“Well, she’s a girl. And you can always count on girls to be late…especially for something important. Knowing girls,” Frank seemingly rambled, “she’s probably changed her shirt four times, messed up her eyeliner and had to put it on again, fixed her hair twice, and now that she’s on her way she’s probably wondering if this is all some kind of trick Mikey’s set up to turn her into a joke…like gave her the wrong address on purpose or something.” Gerard just stared at him and Frank shrugged. “It’s true!”

The doorbell rang and Mikey jolted from his position leaning against the door and opened it quickly, going outside instead of letting her in—closing the door behind him.

“Aw, look at that,” Frank said, laying down on the couch and smiling up at Gerard. “Mikey’s not unemotional, he’s shy. Who would have ever guessed?” 

“He’s probably warning her about us,” Gerard said grumpily. “‘Hope you don’t mind that my brother’s a fag.’”

“Gerard, that’s mean,” Frank sighed, sitting back up and pulling Gerard down to sit beside him on the couch. 

“It’s probably true though,” Gerard mumbled.

“Gerard, she goes to our school…she knows you’re gay.” Frank leaned on Gerard’s shoulder and watched as Gerard’s mother slithered into the room and glanced at the closed front door.

“I thought I heard the doorbell…” she mumbled.

“Mikey got confused,” Frank answered since Gerard had buried his head in Frank’s hair. “He forgot that when someone rings a doorbell, you let them in—you don’t go out.”

“He left?” she exclaimed. “But I made so much—” The door swung open again and Mikey stumbled back inside, motioning for someone out of sight to stay put for a moment as he closed the door again. He looked terrified, and he kept trying to smooth his straightened hair even though none of it was out of place. “Something the matter?”

“Don’t let Dad say anything,” Mikey said, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t you let him say one word to her.” His mother glanced at Gerard and then back at Mikey and shrugged. 

“Sounds reasonable,” she answered. “Am I allowed to talk?” Mikey scowled at her, but said nothing and she slithered back into the kitchen. 

“Should…Mikey, do you want me and Frank to go?” Gerard asked, getting to his feet and acquiring a very hurt look from Frank that only Mikey noticed. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”

“Gerard…you don’t embarrass me,” Mikey said, looking at him more confused than overcome by deep, brotherly affection in the presence of his brother’s insecurities. “Now will you just behave while she’s here?” Mikey moved to open the front door again and then stopped. “And please don’t start a fight with Dad. He doesn’t need a reason to…to bring up what happened.” Gerard shook his head.

“He won’t,” Gerard said, offering his brother a trustable look. Mikey sighed heavily.

“You better be fuckin’ right.” 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard’s screams were taunting him. He could hear them no matter where he went in the school building, but no matter how much he searched, Mikey couldn’t find him. 

He couldn’t understand why all of the classrooms were vacant even though the clocks showed that it was only one in the afternoon. 

After a particularly horrific scream ripped through the hall, Mikey slammed his way into the art room. Gerard was there, but not as Mikey had expected. His back was to the art room door, but Mikey would recognize him anywhere, just as he would have recognized the agile legs wrapped around his hips and the poorly stifled moans filling the room. 

As if attempting to prove the image a lie, Mikey drew closer, entering farther into the room in order to steal a glance of her face as she lie beneath his brother. When he came within her line of vision, Alicia snapped her eyes in his direction and moaned loudly as if to spite him, a smirk mangling her lips.

He turned away and closed his eyes tightly, trying to block out the vision and the sounds. How could Gerard do that to him? He had Frank now! Why did he need her? She was _his!_ Didn’t he deserve something that he could call his own, that he could never be expected to share?

Another scream cut through the air and tore Mikey out of his thoughts. He reopened his eyes and turned back around. Gerard was gone, but Alicia was still there. She was painting something now, but stopped when she saw him looking.

“Mikey? Are you okay?” She set down her paintbrush and stood up from her seat so she could reach him. When she touched his shoulder, he flinched away, too haunted by the image he’d seen to accept her. “What’s wrong?” Gerard cried out again from somewhere, and Mikey turned his head to the room’s window. There were shadows moving beneath the bleachers.

“Gerard,” Mikey said aloud, not really thinking of Alicia anymore. He walked away from her and towards the door to the hallway.

“Mikey!” Alicia said firmly, commanding his attention. He stopped to look back at her coldly.

“ _Gerard_ ,” he insisted to her, telling her he was leaving to go find his brother—annoyed that she didn’t react to his inescapable screams.

Mikey didn’t know how he’d moved out of the school building so quickly, or how the afternoon sky had suddenly turned to dusk. All that mattered was that Gerard’s cries were growing weaker and more sorrowful as he drew neared to the mess of shadowy figures beneath the bleachers.

When he reached the space beneath the stands, his breath caught in his throat and he was overcome with a feeling of helplessness. Gerard lay on the ground writhing helplessly as a faceless jock forced his legs apart.

“Don’t!” Mikey spat, somehow expecting the jock to listen. 

“No,” Gerard whimpered, his eyes staying fixed on his attacker as he remained unaware of his brother’s presence. “Please no!” Gerard cried out once again, his voice cracking and breaking Mikey’s heart. “No!” Mikey attempted to move in on them, preparing to do anything it took to get that beast off of his brother, but a firm grip landed on his shoulder.

When he turned around to face his own attacker, he was shoved backwards hard so that he fell next to his brother’s side. Still, Gerard didn’t seem to notice him, too distracted by his agony. Mikey looked up, glaring into the face of the jock he recognized far too well. 

“Bite me and your brother’s fuckin’ dead, fag.” Mikey turned his head away to look at Gerard who was sobbing as the boy overtop of him ravaged him brutally. Mikey noticed that there was blood running down one of Gerard’s arms in a thick stream. The more blood that came, the less Gerard fought—the less Gerard cried.

A hand fisted itself in Mikey’s hair and forced him to look forward again. The instant he did, he opened his mouth and allowed for the jock’s member to be pushed inside. The feeling of the slick flesh running along his tongue made his stomach churn, and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

“Aw, are you gonna cry?” The jock pulled Mikey’s head further forward, the tip of his dick ramming the back of his throat and making him gag. Behind him, he could hear Gerard start to scream again and Mikey sobbed hard, choking on the sound as it was trapped in his throat. “Don’t cry, slut,” the jock said with false empathy. “Maybe next time we’ll do your girlfriend instead, and you and your brother can fuckin’ watch.”

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey woke up gagging. He recognized that his dark room was not the school’s campus and tried to calm himself, but the visions and memories swarmed back and he had to swallow back what rose in his throat. He could still feel everything so vividly, every grip, every thrust. He could still hear Gerard’s screams.

Swallowing back the bile once again, Mikey sat up and buried his head in his hands as he panted and tried to catch his breath. Even though most of his mind knew that he was safe here, he still flinched violently when a hand landed on his shoulder. 

His first instinct was to slap it away and then shove whoever had touched him back, but as he turned to attack he saw her face and relaxed. In many ways, he felt overcome with relief. If Alicia was still lying here beside him—without his parents knowledge of course—that means she wasn’t with Gerard, and she wasn’t with the jocks. She was safe, and he was safe…

And if she was still here, then Frank probably was as well—downstairs in Gerard’s room, keeping _him_ safe.

“Are you okay?” She asked softly, removing her hand from his shoulder but remaining looking worried. “Mikey?” He grabbed her then, holding her tightly against him and relishing a sensation that was pleasant and real. Her soft skin, her sweet scent, her compassionate voice. “You were crying in your sleep—what happened?” Mikey nuzzled her hair, but didn’t say a word. “Mikey, please—talk to me.”

“It was just a dream,” he groaned, forcing most of his emotion aside. It _had_ been just a dream—there was no reason to react so dramatically…there was no need to let it affect him once he’d realized it wasn’t real.

“So then tell me about it,” she pressed. “I want to know what—”

“No. It was just a nightmare—it’s nothing important.” When holding her closer did no good at ceasing her questions, he tried pushing her away. “Why do you even care about something so stupid,” he grumbled, pulling away and laying back down with his back to her, even though he had to admit that the feeling of her skin on his had been consoling. 

“Because you were having a fit!” She shrieked in the way only agitated girls could. “The whole time you were shaking—then you kept mumbling things. You woke up gagging, you were _crying!_ Forgive me for being worried!” Mikey said nothing and thought, maybe, the argument was done and that they could both go back to sleep…that was, until, he felt the mattress shift and a sheaf of blankets was thrown onto him. “Forget it,” Alicia hissed as she grabbed her shirt from the floor and pulled it on. Mikey watched her in the dark helplessly, not knowing if she was really going to try to leave. “If you’re going to be as cold to me as you are to everybody else then fine—I’ll see you at fucking school.” When she stood up, stooping down to grab her pants, Mikey finally broke from his paralysis.

“Wait,” he called softly, squirming until he reached her edge of his bed. He reached for her arm, but, sensing it, she pulled away. “Please wait,” he said, nervousness painting his tone.

“Forget it,” she snapped, finishing dressing and fumbling around the floor in search of her purse.

“It’s just…kind of personal, alright? If I told you what happened in the dream it wouldn’t matter unless…unless I told you what happened for real and—” Mikey cut himself off when she stopped searching for her purse and sank back down on the bed, sitting at his side and staring in his direction even though it was too dark for either of them to see the other’s eyes. The fact that she _couldn’t_ see him like this gave Mikey some comfort. “…and not all of it is my business,” he finished.

“Gerard’s got something to do with it,” she said, her tone suggesting that whatever had caused the nightmare was Gerard’s fault.

“He’s…he’s part of it,” Mikey stated, knowing what she was thinking. “But not like you’d think. Gerard’s a victim—”

“So he takes it out on you,” Alicia retorted, implying heavily that she was set in her belief about it. 

“No!”

“I saw how much he leaned away from your dad at dinner, it was like he was going to fall off of his seat—your dad’s obviously involved—”

“No!” Mikey called out again, trying to sound firm so she wouldn’t think he was defending someone guilty. “Listen to me!” She turned her shadowed face towards him even more. “Dad’s got nothing to do with it. Gerard’s afraid of our dad because…” Mikey didn’t want to say it. He was looking at the center of the fracture in his world—if he told one thing, all of the others would come into light as well.

“Because?” She repeated expectantly.

“Because Dad’s a guy,” Mikey replied vaguely.

“Because he’s a— _what?_ What does he expect him to be?—” 

“Not like that, Alicia.”

“—A woman?”

“He’s a _guy_ —a big, _intimidating_ guy.”

“He didn’t seem so intimidating to me. I mean, he quit trying to talk to me after you tried to glare him to death across the table. Thanks for that, by the way, dinner wasn’t awkward at all.”

“ _Listen to me!_ ” Mikey pleaded, his desperation catching her off guard and making her fall quiet. “Gerard doesn’t trust _men_ right now. He’s afraid of men. The only ones he trusts are me and Frank—he won’t even sit beside Ray at lunch anymore, and he’s one of his best friends! Dad’s got no more to do with it than Ray does.” Alicia was quiet for a moment.

“The rumor going around school…” she mumbled. “Mr. Barlow was arrested for having sex with a student—they say it was that girl in our math class, but…it was Gerard, wasn’t it?” She didn’t sound disgusted or critical like Mikey had expected. She sounded sad, sympathetic. “Is he okay?” Alicia asked, taking Mikey’s silence as enough of an answer for her previous question. 

“Not really,” Mikey mumbled, wondering if the conversation would end here and the rest of the damages could be hidden. “It wasn’t just an affair for him, you know?” Mikey said, as if trying to defend his brother’s image. “He didn’t do it for the fun, or to get him in trouble—he thought Barlow cared about him. Then he started hurting him and Gerard realized that he didn’t.”

“Hurting him…like, pushing him away?” She asked softly, trying to understand the way that Mikey seemed to. There were so many things that he was still hiding and she could feel it. So many little details…

“Like raping him,” Mikey said with more severity than he’d intended. He didn’t want to show anger to her, but he didn’t want her seeing his brother as some desperate, lovesick puppy that couldn’t bear to have two seconds away from that sick fuck of a teacher. 

“Oh,” she breathed, heart sinking into her stomach. They sat in silence for a while, Mikey seeming to be disappearing in the dark. “So that’s what you dreamt about?” She asked, calling him back. “Mr. Barlow hurting him?” Mikey thought about telling the truth, and he thought about lying… In the end, he decided that what happened to him had been nothing. People just overreacted to the thought… Alicia was like him, though. That was why he felt so close to her. She wouldn’t overreact like his mother or Gerard. 

“No,” Mikey said, his tone sounding almost surprised and at the same time indifferent, and then he just _told_ her. He didn’t know how the words had lined themselves up or why it all came out so easily…all he knew was that the word was out, and he regretted it instantly. 

“Oh my God—Mikey, did you tell anyone!? How did this…how—oh…” Or maybe it wasn’t so bad at all—her boa constrictor-esque hug wasn’t so terrible, nor were the kisses that found his cheeks and then his lips as she tried to force-feed him comfort.

So this was what Gerard used Frank for? 

Well, Mikey felt he could get used to this.


	14. My Damaged Romance

Dinner had been a disaster, and Gerard had expected as much. Mikey was on high-alert since he was terrified that someone would chase the first girl who’d shown interest in him away, but Gerard felt nothing would chase a girl away faster than proving himself to be a possessive maniac who didn’t even want his own father making polite conversation with her. But then again, Gerard didn’t know much about girls.

Apparently that didn’t chase Alicia away…

After dinner, Mikey had said he was going to take her home and then…go to sleep. Gerard and Frank had shared knowing glances, but Mr. and Mrs. Married for God-Knows-How-Many Years appeared oblivious to the teenage courtship. 

The two left the house, went for a walk, and Mikey snuck her back inside about an hour later. Thirty minutes after that, Mr. and Mrs. Not So Naïve Anymore were both running down the steps into Gerard’s room, walking in on him and Frank sitting on his bed doing nothing but staring at the floor.

Gerard just looked at them nervously at first, almost expecting to be yelled at for some previously unregistered offense. 

“They’re having _sex_ up there!” His father suddenly blurted out. His wife looked sickeningly pale. 

Gerard shared another glance with Frank and sighed before turning back to his parents.

“Yeah,” he drawled. “So go stop them if you don’t want them doing it,” he added on in a mumble, suddenly afraid that his parents would try to put a restriction on him and Frank. In all honesty, the two of them hadn’t even tried anything yet…the time they spent in private, Gerard spent telling Frank private things. He needed that time. He didn’t want Mikey getting it taken away from him.

“You know how Mikey is,” his mother said, leaning against his doorframe. “He’d get angry and then…”

“Do it more?” Gerard suggested. She glared at him and he had to fight the urge to laugh. “Really, though,” Gerard said, turning serious. “You can’t get mad at him for it. Mikey’s smart…he’s not going to get her pregnant or anything.”

“That’s the _last_ thing we’re worried about,” his father said, coming further into the room. As if trying to make some sort of statement, Frank leaned over onto Gerard’s shoulder and began nuzzling him softly. Trying to comfort him and keep him calm.

“Well if you’re not going to stop them, don’t come down here and talk about it,” Gerard mumbled. “I really could go without knowing.” Frank began to lean on him more heavily before finally dropping down, his face landing in Gerard’s crotch and extracting a yelp from the older boy and a disapproving glare from both of his parents. “Frank, quit it,” Gerard groaned, half seriously and half playfully. 

He understood the tactic, but he didn’t like it. If his parents got frustrated enough, they would leave and go back upstairs, leaving the two of them in peace. Pushing your face against their son’s crotch was a sure way to disturb them.

“I don’t feel good, leave me alone,” Frank groaned, closing his eyes tightly and sighing. Gerard began to rub his back gently, trying to ignore the voice in his head that whispered what his parents must be thinking of him. 

Slut. Whore. Faggot. _Whore._

Gerard closed his eyes against the sudden sting and tried to drown out the sounds. 

Maybe that’s what Frank thought of him, too. Maybe that was why Frank was around…

Easy. Stupid. _Slut_.

“Gerard? Are you okay?” His mother straightened herself from the doorframe and looked at him with worry. There was no mistaking the sheer anguish that had consumed his face. “Did what I make for dinner really make you both sick?”

“I’m fine,” Gerard suddenly hissed, shoving Frank once, hard, resulting with him falling off of the bed and hitting the floor—too surprised to catch himself. “And so is he.”

“Gerard,” Frank said softly, sitting up and rubbing his shoulder where it had connected with the floor. “That really _hurt_.” His parents stood there, confused, not sure what could have brought on Gerard’s suddenly violent change in mood. 

“Oh, get over it,” Gerard growled, getting up from the bed and moving to his doorway, glaring at his father who blocked his path.

“What’s gotten into you?” His father asked, looking from Gerard to Frank who got himself up from the floor. “Gerard,” he said again when he got no answer. “What’s wrong?”

Upstairs, there was a girl fucking his brother—and his father asked him what was _wrong?_ Gerard hated the very thought of it—any thought of it. What were they saying to each other as they did it? Anything? Did they say “I love you”, or did they see it as some unspoken thing the way he had with his teacher?—was Mikey ending up just like him?—or did they just not waste time on such stupid words? 

Love, there was no such thing as love. Just one person using the other, and the other too blind or drunk on attention to see.

Gerard saw what Frank was doing…taking advantage of the situation, being patient and building up the trust so he could have the fuck he wanted from the idiot he thought he had seduced. Gerard saw it…Gerard loathed it.

He loathed it because it killed him. 

Couldn’t he be the one for once? The one getting what he wanted and using the person he selected?

No…No, it would never happen like that. He wasn’t cruel enough. He wasn’t like Barlow…

He wasn’t like…Frank…

He loved Frank, still, even when this was happening to him…even though Frank had to see him as what he was, a whore, a slut, an easy fuck, a fag… Gerard could practically hear Frank saying the words in his ear. He couldn’t help but sob at the sound.

“Honey, what’s the matter?” It was his mother who pulled him into a gentle embrace since his father knew better than to touch him.

Frank drew near, uncertain about Gerard’s immediate shift from playful and affectionate to angry and upset. The shift had come out of nowhere… He put a hand on Gerard’s shoulder, trying to offer a little comfort and to help bandage whatever wound Gerard had picked open in his mind.

The instant he made contact, and Gerard realized it was him, Gerard pulled away aggressively, breaking off the one-sided embrace from his mom. The gesture hurt Frank worse than anything. Gerard was pushing him away again, and the only reason he could come up with was because he’d laid his head in Gerard’s lap like that…

“Get out,” Gerard’s father barked, understandably pinpointing Frank as the problem, ripping Frank from his thoughts. All at once he felt tears rush the backs of his eyes and he had to bite into his lip to stop them. “Now!” Frank glanced at Gerard, hoping that he’d come to his senses and say it wasn’t necessary for his dad to kick him out. Was what he’d done really that bad? “Get out!” He grabbed Frank by his arm and pulled him towards the stairs before dragging him up half of the steps and then shoving him painfully towards the top once they reached the middle. 

“Gerard,” Frank managed to stammer out, trying to form three thoughts at once. He wanted to ask Gerard what happened, he wanted to apologize, he wanted to ask if he could talk to Gerard for just one second before being forced out into the dark. 

“Get the fuck out,” Gerard’s father seethed, taking another step up the stairs and causing Frank to back away in fear. Part of him knew that this man couldn’t really hurt him—legally, wasn’t allowed to hurt him—but a much more powerful part said that this parental, defensive instinct wasn’t one to be measured by technicalities. 

He didn’t wait for further instructions, he began to back up the rest of the staircase, looking at where Gerard stood, shaking and looking so damned confused. What thought had hurt him like that? What memory? What idea? 

Frank opened and closed the door quietly, not wanting to make a scene and draw Mikey and his new girlfriend into the mess. He stared at the streets that looked so ominous in the dark, not wanting to walk home alone but willingly resigning himself to whatever tortures the night had planned for him.

If he was robbed, who cared at that point? If a random rapist decided to make him his victim, what did it matter? The same had been done to Gerard… In a way, Frank felt as if that was something he deserved. If Gerard had to go through it, why didn’t he? If a murderer came, he welcomed the escape from the pain he was in. He couldn’t hurt Gerard if he was dead…

But nothing happened to him, he was just forced to walk the seemingly endless path home while trying to choke back tears that kept falling. What had he done? That was all he could ask himself. What had he done? What did he do? What damage was done? Was Gerard going to be okay? Could his parents keep him safe from himself? Did they know what to expect? What had he done? What had he been thinking, laying on him like that? 

It was all so much more than he could take. He didn’t want to hurt Gerard. He loved him so much, and Gerard was just starting to feel comfortable returning that love. 

Frank retreated into his house, and then into his room, locking the door behind him even though he wasn’t being followed. His mother hadn’t acknowledged him coming in.

Once the door was closed, a sob broke through, and Frank looked around his room as if some answer to the problem would materialize. He’d hurt Gerard. He’d made Gerard cry… Gerard wouldn’t even look at him…

There was no way out of this tonight and Frank felt crushed by the hours he would have to face for Gerard to calm down enough to maybe try to talk this through. Maybe tomorrow morning he’d accept a phone call… If his dad didn’t intercept it.

But until then…

Frank stared at the top of his dresser absently, at first. He scanned the items without really registering them. Looking at them, but through them. Then they just seemed to call to him.

By his comb and body spray, there was a pair of scissors. Usually, they just cut tags off of shirts, and sometimes even a hair that just wouldn’t lay right… His mind just suddenly started spouting out a much better purpose.

Time would go by so slowly, and television and sleeping were two things that did not appeal to him to help it tick by faster.

What did Gerard do every time he felt stressed and cornered? He bled. Gerard bled. Frank had probably made Gerard bleed. Frank wanted to bleed, too. He deserved it. He’d never done it before, but it called to him like an ingrained addiction and he knew he deserved it.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard woke up when a very pale, very faded beam of blue light struck him in the face from his miniscule window. He felt hung-over, ever though he knew that he hadn’t been drinking. Absently, he stretched out on his bed, trying to find Frank without having to really open his eyes to see…then he remembered that Frank wasn’t there and he shot up in bed. 

His head was so much clearer now, of course it was, he’d slept. What had he let happen? He’d felt stressed out, the atmosphere had changed—there was someone new in his house, new in Mikey’s life—he’d tortured himself by listening to those negative voices in his mind…

He’d let his father throw Frank out…Frank had been fucking _crying_ almost.

With no balance in his lethargic body, Gerard got to his feet and stumbled around his room until he could find a pair of shoes, glad he’d fallen asleep in his clothes. 

He had to get to Frank to apologize. He hadn’t meant to get upset, he’d just been so overwhelmed at that moment…

Gerard slipped out of his house undetected and sprinted down the road, the way he’d run the day he’d tried to meet with Barlow before school only to be denied when he got there. 

What if Frank refused to see him, he suddenly thought. What if Frank told him to go away, that he wasn’t going to forgive him?

Gerard tried to shake the thought from his mind and ran faster, his lungs screaming at him and his body feeling shaky. Still, he did not rest until he got to the front door of Frank’s house. He knocked ravenously, realized that that wasn’t working and rang the bell, very much prepared to attempt to climb the gutter if no one answered.

Fortunately, someone did. Gerard hardly gave her time to recognize him before he pushed his way inside and started up the stairs. The light was on in Frank’s room, bleeding through to the hallway from the crack beneath the door, but there weren’t any sounds coming from inside. He prayed that Frank had fallen asleep, but felt his heart skip several beats when knocking on the door gave him no response. He tried the knob, but the door was locked—he looked over his shoulder at Frank’s mother who had appeared behind him, looking tired and frustrated. 

“D-Do…do you have anything I could use?” He asked nervously, terrified that her response would be to tell him to get the fuck out of her house before she called the cops because it was obvious that Frank didn’t want to see him. “You know, to pick the lock?” Frank’s mother sighed heavily, sleepily, and walked past him to go towards her room.

“A clothes hanger can work right?” she asked without turning back. “I saw that in some _Lifetime_ movie…” She disappeared into her room and Gerard put his ear to the door, suddenly afraid that when he got inside he wouldn’t see Frank breathing. He kept trying to tell himself that Frank was stronger than him, that Frank would never try to destroy himself the way that he had considered doing so many times before, but his terror was getting the best of him. 

Through the wood of the door, he could hear nothing, and he wasted no time before uncurling the hook of the wire hanger that Frank’s mother handed to him when she returned. He pressed the wire into the small hole in the doorknob and the lock gave a reassuring snap as it retracted. 

Gerard handed her the hanger back and she disappeared with it, giving him room even though he didn’t ask it of her. Before she’d even made it back into her own bedroom, Gerard crept into Frank’s, letting out a breath he’d been inadvertently holding when he saw Frank stir on the bed. 

It was a simple motion, unconsciously pulling his hands up to his mouth as he slept facing the door, his body draped with his blanket from the top of his shoulder down past his feet. Everything covered except for his hands and head.

He couldn’t have been asleep for long, Gerard noticed as he slid further into the room and closed the door behind him. Frank’s face was flushed, obviously from crying. Some of the tear tracks were still drying on his face overtop of other red lines that tainted his skin, stains from other tears. 

Gerard felt tears bite the backs of his eyes. It was his fault Frank was like this. He’d listened to that evil voice in his mind, the one that the jocks and people like Barlow had put there. Frank was not like them. He knew that, every part of him _knew_ that… Yet he’d still let himself act out on the idea that Frank was.

He’d hurt Frank.

He bit into his bottom lip and reached out gently to touch Frank’s hair, just to reach him and offer a touch that wouldn’t hurt…the kind of touch he’d always sought after. Frank had never hurt him on purpose, why did he have to end up hurting him?

Gerard wiped a tear off of his own cheek with the back on his hand and sank down onto Frank’s bed, watching how Frank barely moved even though the mattress beneath him shifted. He stroked Frank’s hair a little more and felt more tears fall from his eyes as the guilt washed over him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, resting his hand on Frank’s shoulder gently just to be able to reach him. “Frank, I’m sorry…” He rubbed Frank’s shoulder softly, getting no response from the sleeping teen except for deep breaths.

He slipped off his shoes, making sure not to make much noise, and laid down slowly beside Frank, keeping one arm wrapped around Frank’s shoulder in order to hold him, and the other folded to his chest. Gerard moved to scoot closer, feeling some object buried beneath Frank’s blanket dig into his ribs uncomfortably. He shifted, trying to get it out from beneath him without having to move the blanket, but in the end failed at dislodging it.

Gerard let the dull ache invade him for a moment longer, scooting even closer in order to place a kiss on Frank’s forehead since his fisted hands covered his mouth. Frank’s eyes moved beneath the lids, but didn’t open, and Gerard lifted himself up so he could feel for the object jabbing his side through the blanket. Once his hand lit upon it, he recognized the shape and furrowed his brow, sniffing back tears as confusion replaced his sadness for the moment.

He glanced at Frank and then back down at the disguised object, pushing it along the mattress until it reached the edge of the blanket which he lifted in order to remove the out of place scissors from the bed. Just before Gerard let them come to rest on the windowsill that functioned as Frank’s bedside table, the light hit something on the blades that made Gerard take a second look before letting the scissors drop. 

There was something congealed on the blade, something dark that Gerard almost didn’t recognize. Then when it struck him, he gasped and the scissors fumbled out of his hands and onto the floor with a loud clatter.

Why?

That was his first question. 

Why? What? Why were there scissors in the bed? Why was there blood on them? What had happened? 

“F-Frank?” Gerard stammered, his voice cracking and barely audible. “Frank?” He sat up fully on the bed and shook Frank’s shoulder less than gently, panicking when Frank didn’t respond anymore than a heavy sigh and quivering eyelids. “Oh, God, Frank,” Gerard moaned, grabbing the blanket and pulling it back, afraid that he’d find a puddle of blood underneath the sheets that somehow hadn’t managed to show through. 

There wasn’t one, but there was a smear of crimson on the back of Frank’s left arm that indicated what Gerard feared the most. He grabbed Frank’s right hand and pulled it away from his mouth, successfully getting Frank’s eyes to tug open, even though he didn’t look to see. His eyes were focused on all of the slices, the shallow but populous scratches that went from Frank’s wrist up past the bend in his elbow. There had to have been at least twenty, each a different size, slanted at a slightly different angle, and at different phases of bleeding. Some were already dried, and several were fresh. 

No, Frank hadn’t been sleeping for long if some of the superficial cuts were still wet.

“G-Gerard?” Frank mumbled as he pulled awake, his eyes red and bleary. At first he didn’t seem to register what was happening, and then he glanced down at the contact he felt on his hand and jolted, trying to pull his hand free. “D-don’t!” Gerard held onto the hand for a moment longer before letting go in order to grab the other, to make sure that Frank’s left arm hadn’t suffered the same fate as his right arm.

Of course, it had. One of the cuts bleeding enough to form drops that spattered on the bed sheet before Frank managed to pull his arm back to his chest, any sleep that had been clogging his head completely vacating him by that point.

“Frank, why would you do this?” Gerard asked, his voice shaking and being disrupted with a sob. “Why would you do this to yourself!?”

“Like you’re any better,” Frank called out, sounding frustrated and angry, hurt and afraid, all at once. “Like you don’t know? I had to do something—I couldn’t just sit here! You can’t expect me to just sit here and wait all night all alone and be okay! You let him throw me out, you didn’t give me a chance to say anything! What did you expect me to do? What did you expect!?”

Gerard didn’t know what to say to him. He was horrified at what he’d let happen. He’d given in to his fears, pushed Frank away and landed him in the same state that he himself had been in not too long before—maybe even worse. Sure, most of his cuts were twice as deep as the ones Frank had made, but Gerard had never cut in so many places at once. And he’d always had some sort of blade or another. Frank had used scissors, fucking _scissors_ —they weren’t made to slice. 

Suddenly, he became very afraid. 

The cut on Frank’s left wrist, the one that bled the most and probably was the last inflicted wound before Frank had given in to sleep—or forced himself into it—what if that cut was meant to kill, but the blade wouldn’t go deep enough? What if the reason he’d cut so many times, so many places, was because he had the motivation to end himself but not the tools necessary? To cut so much, to hurt himself so much… What if he’d had a knife instead the scissors? Would he have come in here to find Frank dead instead of asleep?

“Fucking say something!” Frank shouted as he sat up, pulling Gerard back from his mind. Frank’s tone was more anxious than angry, but it left Gerard nervous. He didn’t know what to say. All he could do was look at Frank and look at his ruined arms. In the end, Frank settled for doing the same, examining the many slices and then dropping his head into his hands and sighing mournfully, the action telling Gerard that he was finally acknowledging what he’d been doing.

“Don’t tell my mom,” he suddenly groaned, keeping his face hidden. “She’ll just tell Dad and it’ll start a fight.”

“I won’t tell,” Gerard answered against his better judgment. He felt like Frank needed the help, but he remembered how his dad had reacted when he’d first found out about his self-destructive habit, and he didn’t want the same pain put on Frank. 

Gerard understood, though. He’d caused this mess, so he needed to fix it. It was his fault that Frank had done this…

“Thanks,” Frank mumbled shallowly, dropping his hands and looking at the blood that had stained his sheets. He sighed and glanced at Gerard. He looked tired. “My arms hurt,” he mumbled. 

“They’re _going_ to,” Gerard answered. “You _shredded_ them!”

“Don’t judge me,” Frank retorted, meeting Gerard’s gaze defensively. “Don’t act like you’re any better.” He broke the eye contact and glanced down at his arm, sighed in disgust and turned his face away to the wall.

“I’m not judg—look at me,” Gerard leaned over, trying to catch Frank’s eyes. “Look at me!” He pleaded, finally getting Frank to look up. “I’m not judging you.”

“I feel like a _fucking_ idiot,” Frank spat, moving to lie back down and curling his arms back to his chest protectively. Gerard laid down beside him and let their foreheads touch. They were silent for a long time, but not asleep. Frank was staring at his hands and Gerard was staring at the wall, both were murdering themselves in their minds. 

Somewhere in the house, a phone began to ring and Gerard curled closer to Frank, closing his eyes lightly. The phone stopped mid-ring and Frank’s mother began speaking. As Gerard expected, it was his family, trying to figure out where he was since they’d noticed he was gone.

“He got here a little bit ago. He and Frank have been talking.” Having the subtle background noise was slowly lulling Gerard to sleep. If his parents asked him to come home—commanded him to come home—he wasn’t going. He wasn’t going anywhere. “I don’t think they’re fighting…Frank was upset when he got home, but I didn’t ask. He doesn’t usually say much when he’s like that…No, Gerard just seemed worried when he came in…I could tell he’s been upset lately, but—…Oh my God…you’re not serious?” Gerard pulled awake a little at her tone, fearing that he knew what his parents were telling her. Frank scooted closer to him, showing that he was listening, too, in and out of his half-conscious state. “That’s just awful. You think with the price we pay for tuition, they’d at least hire a staff that—” her voice was muffled as her door closed. Gerard was thankful for that. He still had the peaceful sounds of her voice to soothe him into sleep, but he didn’t have to listen to his private life being recanted. Some things he just didn’t want known.

“I’m sorry, Gee,” Frank mumbled softly, sounding distant and half-asleep. Gerard nuzzled him because he was too tried to answer with words. “I didn’t mean anything by it…I just thought it would be…I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“It was cute,” Gerard murmured. “It just…scared me.” Frank sighed with a hum of understanding and squirmed closer, his arms pressing tightly against Gerard’s chest. Seconds later, his breathing evened out and became deeper, signifying that he’d gone to sleep. With the soft mumbling of the telephone conversation in the background, it wasn’t long before Gerard fell away, too.


	15. My Modified Romance

_He’s just like me,_ Gerard thought. _He’s just as bad as me—he’s just like me._ The thought made him smile. If Frank was just as he was—just as messed up, easily upset, and sensitive as he was—then it was okay for them to be together. Frank was on the same level as him…

To put it bluntly, Gerard thought, he was _worthy_ of him. Frank was someone he deserved.

He used to think that every step he took pushed Frank farther away, that every decision and action was something that would make Frank hate him…seeing that Frank was the same as he was—even if it was just in a single way—made him feel so much more secure. He’d stayed with Barlow because he’d felt that having his love returned only in a hollow form of the same devotion was all that he could possibly deserve in his scarred, tainted state…but he’d been wrong.

Being with Gerard wasn’t a punishment for Frank, and he could sense that.

The realization was all very sudden.

“Fuckin’ arm huuuurts,” Frank groaned as he threw together some breakfast for himself and Gerard at his house. It was Monday, the miscommunications cleared up over the weekend and the wounds—at least those of the emotional variety—had healed, and Frank’s mother had already left for work.

“That’s what you get,” Gerard scolded, creeping up behind Frank and wrapping gentle arms around his waist. Frank leaned back into the touch and sighed.

“It was stupid—I feel stupid.” Frank pulled away and continued making a bowl of cereal for Gerard who had never asked for it. “ _Fucking_ stupid,” he continued to seethe. Gerard sighed as he watched him pour the milk. 

The more Frank spat out things like that, the more it got to him. Sometimes, his mind wanted to twist Frank’s words—cutting was stupid, whoever cut was stupid, Gerard cut, so Gerard was stupid—but most times he caught himself mid-thought. Frank was just being hard on himself. The only person he meant to hurt, if anyone at all, was himself.

“Frank, you’re being so mean,” Gerard mumbled. Frank flinched at the words, apparently caught off guard.

“What?” Frank pulled out of his thoughts violently, barely remembering what he’d been muttering about. Being mean? How was that? He knew he hadn’t been talking about Gerard… He glanced at the counter and saw that one of the bowls of cereal he was preparing was filled a great deal more than the other. “Oh! You can have the bowl with more in it if you want—I didn’t make them uneven on purpose.”

“Not the cereal,” Gerard responded. Frank sighed, remembering the conversation and wanting to leave it behind. In all honesty, he’d just wanted to complain, not have a discussion.

“It was a dumb thing to do,” Frank grumbled, pulling away from Gerard to put the milk back in the fridge and then carrying both bowls to his kitchen table. “I’m just pissed I let it happen. I don’t want to talk about it,” he said in response to Gerard’s too-friendly eyes. Those eyes wanted a discussion. “It was a _mistake_ , and it won’t happen again.” Frank sat down at the table and Gerard sat down beside him, even though the bowl had been set a seat away. It wasn’t an attempt to put distance between them, Frank just liked being able to see the face of the person he was talking to without turning his head to an extreme angle…

“But, Frankie—” Frank tried to bite his tongue, but couldn’t. He’d fucked up—he’d hurt himself in one moment of overwhelming weakness—he didn’t want to have to hear about it over and over. He wanted it to go away and stay in the past… He felt attacked and cornered, scrutinized. 

“Kind of like you and Mr. Barlow. It was a fucking mistake and you learned to know better! Unless you want to take our Chemistry teacher for a spin. Then maybe you’ll pass his class.” Frank bit into his lip, hard, the instant he’d realized what he’d let slip. Even though he was afraid of what would be on Gerard’s face, he turned to look quickly. 

Gerard was staring at the table, looking…bewildered.

“I think…I think I’ll pass,” Gerard mumbled, not sounding hurt in the slightest, just stunned. “On fucking another teacher, I mean. I’m already passing all of my other classes…so I don’t think I need to.”

“Gerard, I’m so sorry,” Frank said rapidly. “I didn’t mean to say that!”

“You did better than me,” Gerard said, turning to Frank and offering him a small smile.

“What the hell are you talking about!? I ju—”

“I hit Mikey when I started to feel trapped that day you found out about Barlow and me. He almost fell down the stairs. I could’ve killed him—not on purpose, but it could have happened. You’re taking it better than I did when I felt cornered.”

“That’s because my problems aren’t anything like that at all,” Frank said with a sigh. Part of him was relieved that Gerard hadn’t taken the attack personally, and the other part was still cursing itself for letting him lose control like he had. “I’m sorry I said that. I know you’re worried, but I just don’t want to talk about it. I can handle it. I know you just want to help, but I’ve got this one all figured out on my own.”

“Okay,” Gerard said in resignation, leaning over and putting his head on Frank’ shoulder heavily. He mumbled something, but Frank couldn’t tell if it was “I love you” or “I trust you”. Frank took too long to respond, he became aware, when Gerard pulled away with a sad sigh.

“Gerard?”

“Yeah?” Gerard responded, pulling his bowl of cereal near and sipping milk from the spoon. His posture indicated that he wanted to disappear inside the meal.

“Thanks for understanding. I try not to be so much of an ass, but it doesn’t work a lot of the time and I’m sorry.” Gerard looked to him and smiled, making Frank blush suddenly.

“It’s okay,” Gerard said softly. “I love you.” His nervous expression told Frank that that was the mumbled statement he had missed. Frank leaned over and kissed him softly, tasting the milk on Gerard’s lower lip when he caressed it with his tongue. Gerard made a sound and opened his mouth slightly, his tongue touching Frank’s gently before shyly drawing back.

“I love you, too,” Frank answered when he pulled away, smiling softly. Gerard looked content with the answer. 

( ) ( ) ( )

They were sitting outside for lunch again, but there was an awkward distance between them that no one could really explain to Ray. Mikey was putting distance between himself and Gerard since he seemed to have an ingrained idea that Gerard wanted to steal Alicia from him. Gerard sat back from Frank, not wanting to call the jocks’ attention onto him and have Frank become their next victim. 

He was anyway.

For what Frank could only guess was the millionth time, a sandwich collided with his head. He guessed he called the attention on to himself this time, though, what with deciding it was a cool idea to bring a teacup to school and drink out of it. 

He looked back at Gerard, wondering if he’d noticed, wondering how he couldn’t have since the jocks and their girlfriends were all laughing hysterically. Frank found himself unintentionally giving him a “can you believe this?” kind of glance, and Gerard looked away and shook his head. Something about his eyes seemed set—there was an emotion that was fixed there, but it had been covered up by the time Frank noticed it.

Determination? Anger? Hurt? Frustration? 

What?

Frank didn’t know, but that look kept popping up throughout the week. Whenever a jock would say something that pissed him off, whenever anyone really said _anything_ to Mikey… The more it appeared, the more Frank seemed to understand it.

The look simply said that Gerard was fed up with this shit—this bullying crap. The jocks had taken it too far, and now it was their turn to take it too far. Maybe not every cocky member of the lacrosse and football teams had been involved those days after school when two of their favorite victims had been dragged out and humiliated in the worst ways possible, but they could _all_ pay for it.

They all seemed to be involved in one way or another with some other kind of assault…

Even playing croquet with adult supervision wasn’t safe anymore. All it took was one second during which one of them wasn’t focused on the world around him for the jocks to start causing them problems. In one second, Gerard followed his ball with his eyes, curious as to where it was going after he’d struck it, and then his head was smacked into the ground after a track-suit clad asshole tackled him and then sprinted off.

Frank could only growl in disgust and try to hide his rage from his teacher behind his sunglasses. He hoped it wouldn’t upset Gerard too much, being forced to the ground with some strange boy on top of him. After it was all over and the boy was jogging off and Gerard was getting back onto his feet, Frank realized that he should have gone over there and slammed his croquet mallet into the back of that guy’s head like he kept telling Gerard they should do. 

“—and now I’ve got grass stains on my _only_ uniform since they fucked up the last one, too!” Gerard was groaning, complaining, _worrying_ as Frank walked with him back to his house. Mikey had disappeared off of the campus with Alicia, preferring her company over all others. “My mom’s gonna be pissed! She’ll—nah…She doesn’t get pissed at me anymore. Isn’t that great, Frankie? Mom doesn’t get pissed off at me anymore since I got raped. Now it’s Dad’s job—”

“Stop,” Frank commanded. Gerard’s face fell from irritated to sad. “It’ll be okay, Gerard. No one is going to get mad at you about it. It’s just a uniform.” Gerard started to say something, but Frank spoke over him. “If they try, I’ll shut them up. There’s more important things that we need to fix right now, anyway.”

“Like what?” Gerard asked, head tilting a little in confusion as he walked up the steps to his front door. 

“Like what we’re going to do about those assholes at school. This has got to stop. You and I both know it.” Gerard unlocked the door in silence and guided Frank inside who shut and locked the door behind them. 

“There’s nothing we _can_ do,” Gerard said softly as he crept down the stairs into his bedroom. Frank followed him, disliking Gerard’s wounded posture. “They can do whatever they want to us—they could fuck me every day and it won’t matter. If we do anything to them, we’ll probably end up in fuckin’ prison.” Gerard threw his shoulder bag away from him, letting it collide with his desk which tottered on its unstable leg and then pitched over, spilling more than just paper and books onto the ground. Gerard looked at the mess and sighed heavily. “Though I wouldn’t mind going to jail for murder after what they did to Mikey. I don’t care about what they do to me—I don’t—but when they so much as _look_ at Mikey, I want to kill them. He had nothing to do with this, but they drug him in anyway.”

“Well…if we go about it the right way,” Frank started, placing a gentle hand on Gerard’s shoulder to comfort him, “we won’t end up anywhere, expect maybe on a list for three days suspension from school. And they’d serve it with us.”

Gerard didn’t seem to be listening. He moved away from Frank and pulled his desk back up, replacing its broken leg and then beginning to sift through the wreckage on his floor. Frank thought he saw a sketch of himself in the heap, but he didn’t let on that he noticed.

“Gerard, if we get in a fight with them, if we hit them and they hit back, they’ll be just as guilty as we are. The student code book says nothing about fighting in self defense. So unless they stand there and let a bunch of social rejects pummel them without so much as pushing us away, they’ll get in as much trouble as us.”

“I don’t get…what you’re saying,” Gerard mumbled as he reorganized the chaos of his desk. Frank went over to him and tried to make him meet his gaze which didn’t work. “Pick a fight with them? They’ll just laugh and walk off.”

“We’ll call them out,” Frank said. “One of us will say something to one of them when a bunch of the others are around so if they refuse our challenge or whatever, which they won’t, they’ll look weak. We set up a day, we set up a time—preferably in the building right after school so that none of us end up dead before someone sees and stops us—and they’ll show up and we’ll show up and it’ll be—”

“Over? I don’t think it works that way, Frank.” Gerard threw a clump of books onto his desk and drifted back towards his bed. He didn’t lie down. Instead, he began changing out of his uniform and into the worn outfit that was piled on his bed. Frank turned his back to him and stared at the wall.

“Even if it doesn’t make them stop, at least we finally get to get a few punches in ourselves. I’m sick of just letting them fucking mess with us.”

“Well who’s involved in this anyway?” Gerard shouted irritably. “You and me? Us against, like, forty athletes? It’s not going to happen!”

“Mikey and Ray will help,” Frank mumbled, glancing over his shoulder and catching a glimpse of Gerard stepping into his jeans before turning back just before getting caught. “And we’ll only call out four or five of them. Not all of them.” He glanced over his shoulder again, even though there was really nothing to see except for Gerard’s back and shoulders as he discarded his button-down and replaced it with a faded T-shirt. “We’ll say something like ‘if you outnumber us, it’s obvious you can’t take us on your own’ or something psychological like that.”

“Psycho—what? He-hey! What the fuck?” Gerard had turned around to look for a sweater that was missing from his bed, assuming that it was on his floor somewhere, and caught Frank’s eye. “You’re watching me! Quit it!” He wrapped his arms over his chest, even though he wasn’t a girl and therefore had nothing there to hide, and despite the fact he was already fully clothed. 

Frank giggled and turned back around, covering his mouth with the back of his hand and trying to stifle his sounds. At first he’d been afraid that Gerard would be mad, that was why he waited until after Gerard was fully dressed before getting caught watching, but he felt more secure when he noticed the embarrassed smile that was threatening to overtake Gerard’s face along with his blush despite his self-conscious words.

“What?” Frank asked playfully, turning back around as Gerard pulled a sweater around himself. “When you sleep over, you’re usually in your underwear. What’s the big deal? I’ve seen it before.” Frank winked and Gerard’s blush intensified before he turned his back to him and tried to disappear into his hoodie.

“I don’t want watched,” Gerard mumbled, sounding more shy than sad.

“You watch me,” Frank nearly purred as he made his way over to Gerard and hugged him around his side. He knew better than to hug him from behind. That just made Gerard nervous. 

“Well you’re something to look at,” Gerard muttered. “I’m n…I’m not,” he stammered before starting to giggle as Frank moved around him in order to press his lips gently to his throat. 

Frank was doing better at thinking before acting—making sure there was more mischievousness than seductiveness in his motions.

“I think you are,” Frank mumbled, meeting Gerard’s eyes as he said it in hopes that the words would sink in to Gerard’s mind. It seemed to work, because Gerard’s blush returned to its full strength and he looked away timidly. Frank moved to hug him around the waist and nuzzled his way beneath Gerard’s chin, sighing in content when Gerard finally began to hug him back.

“I love you,” Gerard whispered, nuzzling the top of Frank’s head gently.

“’Love you too,” Frank mumbled back. “So that means you’ll help me get in a fistfight with the jocks, right?” Gerard laughed and pushed Frank away gently.

“Maybe not a fistfight. Let’s just use the mallets like we discussed before.” Frank chuckled and kissed Gerard’s cheek, avoiding a passionate kiss so close to the bed.

“I like that idea better anyway,” Frank mumbled, smiling. “They’ll probably get us with baseball bats anyway.” Gerard sighed and pulled Frank into another hug which Frank returned eagerly. 

“We’ll have to talk to Mikey about it when he gets home,” Gerard said. 

“And Alicia, too, if he brings her.”

“What’s she got to do with this?” Gerard asked, his tone sounding slightly angry. “Mikey’s not going to let you put _her_ in the line of fire.”

“You’ll see,” Frank drawled, nuzzling against Gerard’s chest and listening to his heartbeat. 

“We can invite Ray over when Mikey gets here…”

“And until then we have some alone time,” Frank said with a playful undertone. Gerard still stiffened. Frank did the only thing he knew how to salvage the moment. “Wanna go upstairs and watch that horror flick?” Gerard pulled back from him and looked at him inquisitively. 

“Which, uh, which horror flick?”

“You know, that one you’ve seen about a million times but it’s still refreshing every time you watch it.” Gerard looked a little sad, but he scratched his shoulder and then nodded.

“Okay.” Frank smiled and started for the stairs, pleased that for once he’d been able to keep his mouth in check with his brain before causing damage.

( ) ( ) ( )

It wasn’t until the next week that everything seemed to fall perfectly into place. Once again, Gerard, Frank, and Mikey seemed to be the only three knowing what was going on, and Ray was just along for the ride. It made Ray feel a little left out. Especially since Alicia seemed to know what was going on as well…

“Hey, Loser!” Alicia called out during lunch, beginning her short script and attracting the attention of more people than just the blonde jock she made eye contact with. “My boyfriend’s gonna kick your ass tomorrow!”


	16. My Uninterrupted Romance

There was no one in the first floor boy’s bathroom after school, making it the ideal place for Gerard to prepare for what was about to happen. He leaned against the sink and stared at the faucet, trying not to think about what he might have to do with the croquet mallet leaning against the wall beside him. Mikey, Ray, and Frank were all in this with him, and he began to see that as a bad thing the more his thought got to him. 

Shouldn’t they just call this all off? No, it was probably too late now. The jocks, humiliated by being called out for a fight with a group of rejects and being socially forced into participating, would probably still beat the shit out of them whether they fought back or not. 

So they had to fight. Even Mikey, who looked less than interested in the whole thing. In a way, it was like his little brother wasn’t even taking the matter seriously. He was wielding a ball that, albeit hard and heavy, was a great deal less accurate than a mallet…unless he planned to get close enough to smack someone in the head with it. At least a mallet could be used on legs and arms.

They weren’t supposed to swing hard enough to break any bones though, but everything below the belt was fair game so Gerard wasn’t too unhappy. He just wished he could take one of the mallets and shove it straight—

“Hey, Gee?” It was Frank, creeping slowly into the room looking nervous. “You okay? We’re going to have to go out there soon…if you’re still, you know, up for it.” Gerard took a deep breath and straightened himself, grabbing the mallet and holding it loosely at his side.

“I’m ready,” he sighed. He moved to leave the room, but Frank blocked him, looking up at him with timid eyes and biting his lower lip. “What’s the matter?” Gerard asked, lifting a hand to pet Frank’s hair and caress his cheek gently. Frank leaned forward and raised his head a little to reach Gerard’s lips, kissing him softly at first and then deepening it when Gerard opened his mouth slightly. Their tongues touched fleetingly before Gerard sighed and pulled away. 

“Even if they bust your face to where your mom doesn’t recognize you anymore, I’ll still love you, Gee,” Frank said, his face looking half serious and half mischievous. Gerard smiled softly and pulled Frank into a hug, being careful not to even tap him with the mallet as he did. 

“I feel the same,” he said, nuzzling his love’s hair and closing his eyes tightly. “Love you. No matter what happens out there.”

“Mm,” Frank moaned against Gerard’s chest. “s’good to know you’re not just using me for the sex.” Gerard froze for a second, making Frank a bit more than anxious as he registered for a third time what he had said. He’d meant it as a joke, now he was afraid that he’d caused damage…until Gerard chuckled and held him a little tighter.

“If I’m using you for sex, I think I made a pretty bad decision—seeing as how you won’t even touch me.” Frank forced their eyes to meet, trying to see if Gerard was sad or teasing. He seemed to be both.

“It’s not that I _won’t_ ,” Frank mumbled, turning to look at the doorway where a shadow was cast. “I just don’t. I don’t want to upset you—”

“Are we doing this or not? Alicia wants to go to the movies with her friends from her last school in an hour and she wants to be able to get home in time to change.” Mikey leaned against the wall and looked at Gerard with apathy, holding the croquet ball in one hand and twisting two mallets—his own and, presumably, Frank’s—in the other.

“We’re coming,” Gerard answered, letting Frank go and starting towards the doorway. Frank trailed behind him, taking his mallet back from his friend with one hand as he passed him and using the other to pull his pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and over his eyes. Mikey was the last to leave the room, somehow managing not to look reluctant to follow.

“You ready, Ray?” Gerard asked as he entered the hall. Ray looked at him and shrugged.

“Guess so. Just promise me again that I’m not going to get expelled.”

“I promise you won’t get expelled,” Alicia answered instead, immediately going to Mikey’s side once he appeared. She kissed him on the cheek and then leaned her head onto his shoulder.

“Then I guess I’m ready whenever you are,” Ray sighed, somewhat lacking the passion that the other three involved in the fight. No one held it against him—he knew approximately one one-thousandth about what had been going on.

They started down the hallway, the jocks still not visible on the other side even though the main lobby was within sight already. 

“Don’t get your glasses broken, okay, Mikey?” Alicia said before kissing his cheek again, smiling, and then rushing away, claiming her post by the front doors of the building to alternately keep watch and provide an alibi—leaving the four boys behind to face the jocks who finally appeared, destroying whatever was in their path. One of them even went so far as to shove the Sophomore Head-of-Class to the floor as he passed them.

They began to make a formation, lining up without really thinking about it. Frank and Mikey ended up at the ends of the line, Gerard beside his brother with Ray between him and Frank. They were outnumbered by one person, but how dangerous could some shrimp in a helmet really be? Sure, it was a clever way to keep his brains from getting smashed in, but that wasn’t the intention so it made him look like a fool...And the handle of the mallet could still fit between the white bars of the head cover. He wasn’t safe at all.

Gerard assessed them carefully, allowing rage and bitterness to overcome him as he looked into the faces of several men he’d come to _hate_. The tall brunet in the middle he recognized as one of his constant enemies, but the boy had been absent on the night Gerard remembered. It seemed unfair that he was going to be one of the ones aiming mainly for him. 

Gerard wasn’t stupid. They were outnumbered by one person so that two could claim him—possibly one for him and one for Mikey, and one to attack them both…More likely than not the blonde who had hurt both of them.

It just seemed improbable that two of the jocks would be assigned to attack Ray or Frank. 

They lined up, standing with several feet of space in between them, all locking eyes with one another—or trying to at least since Frank decided it was a better idea to take off his sunglasses for the fight and was focusing more on his pocket than the helmet-clad idiot. 

The brunet on Mikey’s end had been present that night. The blonde at his side had not only taken him, but wounded Mikey as well. The poor bastard in the middle was just getting caught in a battle fueled by hatred he didn’t really deserve, though Gerard hated to admit it. The two beside him—including the dumbshit in the helmet who, unbelievably enough, seemed to be unarmed—had been there and deserved to die. Gerard rather wished that the tall, uninvolved hockey player would be lined up with Ray (which he would be if his theory that the three weren’t meant to be divided among himself and Mikey) since neither of them really needed to be there.

And then hell broke loose at the bottom of the stairs in the lobby. Gerard caved in to his wrath, his torment, his ever-burning hate, and everyone lunged at everyone within an instant. No one spoke a word of spite or uttered a battle cry—they just all seemed to move at once. 

Hockey sticks were raised; lacrosse sticks were held back and ready to be swung. Some of them were ducking already, some were strategically bowed at the middle as they prepared to tackle, some held their heads high. As they all collided, voices rang out in growls of anger, frustration, and then immediately pain. 

Not thinking of much—other than revenge and making sure to _make sure_ to protect Mikey whenever a spare second came—Gerard ignored the advance of the jock in the middle and lunged at the blonde, aiming to take him out before he could even lay a fingertip on Mikey. 

Just as blunt end of his mallet made contact with the blonde’s gut, his weapon fell upon the back of Gerard’s neck. Immediately afterwards, the hockey stick of the tallest jock joined the first, slamming him on the back of the head. Gerard bit back his cry of pain, but the blonde could not as Mikey swung at him with no hesitation after slamming the croquet ball into the side of the short brunette’s head.

Like the coward he was, the blonde backed off after that, ordering the short lacrosse player to “beat the fuck” out of Mikey. The brunette looked anxious after that, not at all misinterpreting the hatred that was brewing in Mikey’s eyes as well as the pleased little smirk that was growing on his lips.

Those things kept him safe for a span of one and a half seconds before the brunette lunged and connected the top of his lacrosse stick with Mikey’s shoulder, wasting no time before raising it and swinging again. The two of them went at it, Mikey sometimes managing to raise his mallet and defend himself or manage to get in a blow, the red croquet ball rolling away somewhere along the floor.

Beside him, Gerard had already fallen, leaving him just next to vulnerable as the tall jock lost himself in bloodlust and began to kick him repeatedly, desperate to cause damage with his body instead of his sport’s equipment. 

Ray would have saved him, if he didn’t have enough trouble as it was, sparing himself from the endless grace that his attacker had. With seemingly non-existent effort, the jock he was to face side-stepped his moves, bypassed his blocks, and collided his lacrosse stick with whatever parts of Ray’s body that he could. 

With the adrenaline pumping, and the rage boiling his veins, Frank hardly felt anything after being knocked completely over by the douche-bag in the helmet, even when the blows came at his face and he failed to block them. He spat a fair amount of blood with a liberal amount of spit into the jocks eye when he got the chance, and kicked the asshole in the gut in order to get free—taking advantage of his attacker’s momentary distraction. 

He grabbed his mallet back off of the floor and contemplated colliding it with the helmet just for the fuck of it, but a sideways glance that showed him Gerard fighting to get back to his feet as his own assailant repeatedly struck him and kicked him back down.

Frank set his aching jaw and abandoned his post with a full intent to kill the fucker who was making Gerard grunt with pain like that. He’d never gotten names from Gerard about who exactly had raped him that night, but this bastard was undoubtedly one of the ones involved. For that, the fucker deserved to die—whether it landed him in prison or not.

He swung the mallet, ready to make contact with the suddenly stunned jock’s ugly fucking face when an unbelievable weight overcame his legs and he pitched backwards, dropping the mallet and hitting the back of his head on the floor hard enough that he saw static and blue flashes for longer than just a second.

He tried to shake the daze away, but it almost seemed permanent—until a sharp pain exploded from his ribcage and he realized he’d been struck again. Instead of screaming, he growled and made some kind of feral sound as he tried to recollect himself. Just as his vision started to clear and his senses beyond those just deciphering his pain returned, a loud voice cut through the air and all other sounds stopped except for the panting and grunts.

“Okay, thanks guys!”

“What in God’s name is going on here!?” 

The first voice had been Alicia’s, playing out her script and setting up the alibi that would protect them all…unfortunately, even the jocks.

The second voice had been the principal’s.

“Oh, Mr. Harding…we’re shooting a video for Alicia’s scholarship thing.” Frank would recognize Gerard’s voice anywhere, even if he couldn’t see him for the moment, or detect that it was Gerard’s weight that was crushing down on his legs. 

“Scholarship?” The principal barked, his attention—and the attention of the four teachers who had hastily arrived with him—turned to Alicia. It was no surprise to Gerard that Mikey was already at her side, leaning on her in what he probably hoped appeared as a possessive gesture when it was really his body doubling over with pain.

“Yeah,” Alicia said cheerfully as the jocks hurriedly separated themselves from the freaks. The tall one nervously, quickly, offered a hand to Gerard, but it was ignored. “I found this school that offers summer enrichment courses for photojournalism, and they said a video would qualify as an example of my skills—but I took some stills, too.”

The weight disappeared from Frank’s legs and a cool hand touched his face. 

“You okay, Frankie?” Gerard asked quietly, his voice shaking and still audibly tainted with fear. “Frankie?...Frank?”

“Is he alright?” A female teacher asked, kneeling down and placing one hand on Gerard’s shoulder and the back of the other on Frank’s forehead. 

“Are we done filming?” Frank slurred out, hoping his skewed senses sounded intentional. 

“Yeah,” Gerard whispered, taking his hand away from Frank’s face before a teacher caught on to the exchange of affection. 

“So I can get up then?” Frank asked, trying to imply with only his tone that Gerard was going to have to help him. The static cleared a little, and the blue lights quit flashing, but Frank still had trouble seeing.

“What happened to him?” A second teacher asked in the same instant that the principal declared he thought Alicia’s story was a lie.

“Blood all over! He’s knocked down—”

“It’s just ketchup,” Mikey interjected, reaching into his pocket with a hand that hurt like a mother-fucker and pulling out a fistful of ketchup packets that had been pilfered from the cafeteria during lunch. 

“I wanted it to look real!” Alicia argued with a childish, spoiled tone that fit the scene so well.

“I got carried away,” Gerard said to the teachers. “I pulled him down with me and he hit his head.”

“He might need a doctor—we may need an ambulance.”

“No,” Frank moaned, sitting up and trying to shake off his dizziness as quickly as he could. “I’m fine. I’ve taken worse in gym class.” He offered Gerard a woozy smile and allowed the older teen to help pull him onto his feet. 

The voices all mingled together—the principal arguing with Alicia about how she needed to _ask_ before arranging choreographed fights on the school grounds, the jocks forcing conversation with Ray and two teachers so they didn’t look like mortal enemies, Frank assuring everyone his head was in the same state of disarray and wreckage as it had been before it hit the ground, and Gerard whispering apologies into his ear…

In the end, they got off with just a warning and curious glances—plus a suggestion to stop into the emergency room on the way home—as well as steadily mounting pain and ever-expanding bruises. Gerard was satisfied though—Ray seemed to have taken the least damage…he could at least walk straight.

( ) ( ) ( )

Movies with the girls never happened. Alicia was sitting next to Mikey on his bed, fawning over him as he moaned in pain each time he moved. She stroked his hair, mended his wounds with band-aids, kissed his split lip, and helped him change into his everyday clothes. 

Gerard hovered and watched them for a time before finally giving in to Frank and slinking down into the basement where his boyfriend was setting up a mini hospital. He had band-aid boxes, gauze rolls, q-tips, rubbing alcohol, and a wet washcloth for scraping off the blood. 

“I still think you should go to the hospital,” Gerard whispered as he sunk down on his bed. Frank came over to him and kissed his cheek gently before trying to help Gerard take off his uniform jacket. The sleeve was torn, another uniform ruined. 

“I’m okay, Gee,” Frank mumbled. 

“I think we lost,” Gerard mumbled, crying out in pain despite himself when Frank tried to get him to lift his arms so he could remove his shirt.

“Sorry, babe,” Frank whispered sympathetically. “I’m sorry.” A dark bruise was marring Gerard’s ribcage that looked like a broken rib.

“Do you think Dad’s going to yell?” Gerard asked nervously, watching as Frank left him momentarily to grab the wet cloth so he could wipe the blood off of Gerard’s lip and the cut on his face.

“If he tries I’ll sucker-punch him. How’s that?” Frank offered Gerard a smile that didn’t lighten the mood. 

“He’s going to yell,” Gerard groaned, twisting his head away from the gentle touch of the cloth. 

“Gee…” Frank sighed and tossed the rag aside so he could climb onto the bed beside his boyfriend.

“What…what if he hits me?”

“He won’t,” Frank said firmly. Gerard just sighed and rolled over onto his side, whimpering as he did and putting his back to Frank who immediately cuddled close to him.

“Mikey’s pretty busted up…”

“It’s worth it to him—didn’t you see the smirk he couldn’t hide when Alicia called off her trip to the movies to take care of him? It made his week. Now he’s got her playing nurse, and you know he’s milking it for every drop he can get.”

“How’s your head?” Gerard asked suddenly. 

“Fine,” Frank mumbled. “Why did you knock me over? I was about to kill that guy.”

“Uh—that’s why,” Gerard muttered with much sarcasm. “He didn’t have anything to do with it. You were going after the wrong person.” 

“Oh,” Frank mumbled. “Well…thanks on his behalf. I really think I was about to murder him.”

“Besides, I don’t want to have to go visit you in jail…share you.”

“Share me?”

“You know, with the other convicts… I don’t want to share.” Frank sputtered out a laugh and rolled his eyes, nuzzling the back of Gerard’s neck affectionately.

“Well, thanks for saving my ass then.” Gerard laughed slightly, and then sighed.

“It hurts,” he whimpered, rolling onto his back slowly and turning his head to face Frank. 

“I could…take your mind off of it,” Frank said, closing his eyes tightly after the words left his mouth.

“I can’t, Frank,” Gerard sighed out, turning his head away. “I hurt enough as it is…”

“I-I meant m-me,” Frank stammered, feeling nerves overcome him the way rage had during the fight. 

Gerard’s breath caught in his throat, and all he could managed to say was “oh”. Even then, his surprise— _pleasant_ surprise—at the offer was more than discernable. He sounded flattered, honored, and embarrassed all at the same moment.

“You could…have me if you want to. Just don’t push on my shoulder because it’s killing me.”

“As long as you don’t pull on the back of my neck—one of them tried to break it.” Frank made a sound of empathy and cuddled close.

“I won’t,” Frank promised.

“Y-you sure that you’re not…hurt too bad?” Gerard asked, moving to prop himself up on one elbow. 

“I’m fine, but I don’t…have anything.” Gerard’s face fell slightly.

“Well…Well, we could borrow from Mikey. I know he does.” Frank flushed and sat up on the bed. 

“I don’t want Mikey to know what we’re doing!” He exclaimed, more out of shame than anger.

“He won’t care—”

“No…I’m not asking Mikey.”

“So we won’t ask,” Gerard said with a funny smirk. “We’ll just take. I know where he puts his…Or we could steal from my mom and dad.” Frank’s mouth fell open in a grimace of disgust. “I know where they keep theirs, too.”

“Just get Mikey’s,” Frank said, shaking his head and looking away towards the wall as Gerard began to chuckle. He slid towards the edge of the bed and stood up stiffly, wincing but trying to hide most of his pain so Frank wouldn’t reconsider the offer that Gerard had never even dared to dream of. He knew that at some point Frank would ask if they could, but he’d never expected Frank to be the one to offer himself. It almost didn’t seem real. “You are okay with this, right?” Frank asked the instant Gerard reached the doorway. Gerard looked back at him and nodded, trying to look sure and confident. Just as he started up the stairs, Frank called after him again. “Do you think I have time for a shower?”

“No,” Gerard replied. “You’ll take one after.” He meant it to sound playful, but it came out as more of a command. “If Mom and Dad aren’t home,” he added in hopes of lightening the words, “I’ll take one with you.”

“That’s not fair,” Frank grumbled. “Now I _have_ to wait.” Gerard laughed quietly and hurried up the stairs as fast as he could with aching ribs, a horridly sore leg, and a neck that felt like it was broken and sent pain through him every time he took a step upwards. Unfortunately for him, the instant he made it to Mikey’s room, the bedroom door was closed…and there was no way in hell he was going to knock or even think about opening it.

He turned his eyes towards his parents’ bedroom and then glanced at the spacious room behind him. Frank didn’t have to know, and if his parents noticed—or cared if they did—he’d just blame it on Mikey. 

( ) ( ) ( )

When Gerard got back down into his bedroom, Frank was already half undressed and waiting for him at the foot of the bed. Tattoos that were against school code were showing, and so were deep bruises that made Gerard’s stomach tie in knots. What had been the purpose of that fight? To get the shit beat out of them? To try to indirectly say that they weren’t going to be taking any more shit from them without fighting back?

Whatever it had been, it wasn’t worth it to see Frank like this. His lips were still stained with blood that might have been from his mouth or his throat, and his eyes were still out of focus from when he’d hit his head on the floor—a wound that was Gerard’s own fault.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Frank asked clearly. 

“I just feel bad that you got hurt.” Frank rolled his eyes and it somehow made Gerard feel better. 

“Get over it,” he mumbled, slowly standing up and looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time. The walls were so bare now that Gerard had thrown all of his Barlow-inspired pieces into the trash. One could almost say the cluttered place looked somehow empty. “So did you…find anything?” He looked back at Gerard who held the foil wrapped item in his hand as if it were an award and then quickly looked away. “No one’s going to come down here, right?”

“I can’t guarantee that,” Gerard responded, going over to Frank and pulling him into an obscenely gentle hug. “Mikey won’t…I don’t know if my dad will or not.” Frank sighed and leaned up his head in order to give Gerard a kiss, momentarily thinking about how useless a condom really was to them since they both had bleeding wounds that were undoubtedly going to touch in the near future…unless they fancied dressing as mummies before taking a tumble. “You sure you’re okay?” Gerard nearly whispered. Frank nodded and pulled away, returning to the bed and unbuttoning his pants as he went. 

“Like I said, Gee, as long as you don’t push on my shoulder, I’ll be fine.” Gerard watched him carefully, catching a glimpse every now and then of the scars lining the insides of Frank’s arms as he took off his pants with careless ease and tossed them over towards the wall where his jacket and shirt had disappeared to. The dark-coloured lines made him feel sick to his stomach. In many ways, he felt like he had caused those wounds, too. “Oh, and keep the screaming of my name to a minimum—makes me feel like I’m getting yelled at by my mom. Kills the mood, if you know what I mean.” Gerard’s face contorted with confusion and, at the same time, insight. (The request did make sense, after all.) In the end, he nodded his head and shrugged. Somehow sending the signal that he agreed.

He watched Frank creep onto the bed, and only turned away when Frank crawled into some sort of playboy, pin-up girl pose that made his cheeks burn.

“I never thought of it that way before,” he said in order to fill the silence as he began to rustle through the mismatched clumps of belongings on his shelf. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

“Don’t try,” Frank stated, watching Gerard with what had to be intentionally lidded eyes which he blinked ridiculously slowly when Gerard looked back to him after finding a half-empty bottle of lubricant on the cluttered shelf. Frank looked at it almost judgmentally. Where had the other half of the contents gone? Whose company had Gerard kept here before him? He found himself feeling possessive of a Gerard he had never dated—possibly never even known. “Just don’t.” He looked back to Gerard and smiled, slowly sitting up and wincing with pain from his shoulder as he reached his arms out to take the condom and lube from Gerard. “So,” he said without any thought at all. “Do I get a strip tease?”

“No!” Gerard exclaimed, crossing his arms over his chest, once again, as if hiding a bosom he didn’t have. He didn’t look hurt or traumatized, just embarrassed…just shy. “And I’m turning this light off. I don’t want looked at.” Frank didn’t say anything. Lights off was the standard way of sex anyway. He merely watched as Gerard hurriedly crossed the room and flipped off the light, leaving only a shrouded beam from the small window to help him make out small shapes, before he finished undressing—at least down to his underwear—and climbed onto the bed beside his boyfriend.

Not really knowing—not really _remembering_ —what he was supposed to do, Frank fumbled a little until he located Gerard’s mouth and kissed him gently, not really wanting to talk anymore in fear of saying the wrong thing. Gerard returned the kiss, deepening it by sliding his tongue along Frank’s lower lip until the mouth was opened and he was allowed inside. 

He ran a hand gently across Frank’s right shoulder, not sure if it was his right or left one that was causing him pain, and began to climb over him in order to get him to lie back on the bed. Just as he began to run his hand down Frank’s side, feeling his ribs and the curve of his hip, Frank turned his head away, panting loudly but still trying to speak.

“Don’t take—don’t take any pictures,” he panted out, making Gerard pause and pull his hand back.

“What do you mean?” He asked, moving his hand to caress Frank’s cheek.

“Afterwards,” he responded. “Don’t take any pictures of me. That’s what my last boyfriend did—that’s why I changed schools.”

“I don’t even have a camera,” Gerard mumbled. “And, besides, you know I’d never do that.” He kissed Frank’s cheek gently, trying to decide if they should keep going as if nothing had happened, or stop to talk. 

Frank responded for him, sneaking a hand to the waistband of Gerard’s boxers and slipping inside, extracting a loud gasp from his boyfriend that ended with a stifled moan. His ability to react told Frank that Gerard obviously hadn’t sustained much damage to his lower half during the fight…he wished he could say the same for himself. As completely elated as he was that Gerard trusted him enough to allow him to go this far, to get into this position on his bed, he barely felt anything more than a faint tingling in his gut. 

He wondered if he could somehow get Gerard off and make it look like he hadn’t meant to, just so Gerard wouldn’t acknowledge his…problem.

Involuntarily, Gerard thrust into Frank’s hand, not used to the gentle contact and missing it greatly. This wasn’t how he’d always dreamed, what with open bedroom windows and flowing summer breezes, but he guessed that it was okay. In a way, it was almost perfect. He was here with Frank—someone that he knew loved him, and knew would give him a kiss if he bent down and requested it. Frank wouldn’t hold affection hostage, or make him degrade himself or submit himself to tortures to acquire it. He knew that Frank would take care of him, see him as a human and not just an object to be abused, used, and set aside once the job was done. 

It felt right this way. Real. He wasn’t lying on his back in a classroom closet, on a paint-stained sheet. He was in his own bed, on his own blankets. Everything here was _his_ , including Frank who was submitting himself more than willingly. In an instant, it all became too overwhelming—the pleasure, the acknowledgment, acceptance, love, concern. Gerard was glad that the lights were off, just so that Frank couldn’t see that he’d started to cry from all of it.

Gerard let out a sound that was somewhere between a euphoric moan and a cry of desperation, and Frank almost damned himself when the conflicted sound fixed his problematic issue. He palmed Gerard gently one last time before pulling his hand away, relishing Gerard’s quiet whimper of protest as he wrapped an arm around Gerard’s shoulder and pulled him down into a haphazard kiss. Gerard kept breaking it in order to pant and gasp for air, Frank kept deepening it to make up for lost time. 

When his lips started to feel bruised, Gerard realized that he’d managed to find someone more desperate than himself when it came to a need for affection. Or maybe it was a desire to prove that he was feeling love, or a way to express all of the love he had to offer…

Frank’s hands found the sides of his face after running through his hair with skilled ease, but after caressing his cheeks, Frank broke the kiss and held Gerard back.

“You’re crying,” he breathed out, trying to look Gerard in the eye.

“Yeah,” Gerard admitted before trying to force the conversation to end by dropping his hips down onto Frank’s and grinding against him. 

It almost worked. Frank was about to speak when his voice escaped as a loud cry of surprise, but he unfortunately found it again and made his words.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Gerard mumbled, feeling exposed. “I’m just happy.” Frank ‘aww’ed, cooed, and then pulled him back down to kiss his cheek while simultaneously rutting his hips up against Gerard’s. “Frank,” he moaned out, reminding himself of how he thought this would never possibly happen. Frank would never return his love, never see him, never kiss him or touch him—God, he was so glad he’d been wrong.

“Take me,” Frank choked out. “I’m ready—I can’t wait anymore.” He moaned loudly and Gerard’s tears were replaced with a heavy blush that wasn’t visible in the dim room. He glanced around the bed until he found the two items Frank had set aside by the headboard and sighed heavily, nervously, as he slid out of his boxers and tossed them aside on the floor. By the time his reached the floor, Frank’s were already somehow with them. 

Trying to hurry, Gerard grabbed for the condom. He tore open the wrapper and tossed it away (more than sure that he was going to forget to pick it up and end up getting a lecture about it), rolling the latex on with more complications that he thought it was worth—since he was hurrying, it seemed nothing would cooperate. In the end, he succeeded, and he grabbed for the bottle that was abhorrently close to Frank’s head. 

“I know I said I couldn’t wait,” Frank sighed when he heard the bottle spit more than Gerard had wanted into his hand and listened to his boyfriend curse at it. “But you do know that I’m not going anywhere, right? You can slow down.” Gerard apologized, Frank tried to tell him that he didn’t have to, but his words turned into a strange, crying moan as a finger was slowly pushed inside of him.

Gerard couldn’t help but feel he’d been too rough with the first thrust of his finger, but Frank seemed to react favorably, immediately arching his spine and moaning. He added the second with more caution, trying to gently stretch his lover without drawing blood or pain. When Frank began pushing against him, he added the third, extracting a quiet grunt from Frank that didn’t sound as though it was from pleasure.

“You okay?” Gerard asked, kissing Frank gently to make up for the pain he’d caused. Frank rolled his eyes invisibly, and sighed.

“You worry too much,” he breathed out, getting used to the burn and sting again after being away from such intimate contact for, literally, over a year. It wasn’t so bad; Gerard was more than cautious. “It’s fine. I’m ready.” Despite his words, Gerard thrust the fingers into him several more times, making sure he was ready, and keeping himself from asking—knowing Frank would just become annoyed.

He grabbed for the bottle again, and spread more lubricant on his cock before positioning himself and gently pressing in. Frank whimpered and clutched the blanket beneath him tightly. The pain wasn’t anywhere near unbearable, but even if it had been, the sudden jab to his prostate would have blotted it out regardless. He arched his back and moaned, trying to remember to be quiet since two other people were still in the house, but losing his concern when Gerard began to stroke him gently in time with the cautious thrusts.

This was nothing like his first time with Barlow, but Gerard couldn’t help but feel the same way he had then. It was as if his mind had been erased. He knew nothing of the anguish of unrequited love, nothing of being tortured under the bleachers, nothing of Mikey being hurt, nothing of a fight after school… 

All he knew was Frank. Frank’s sounds, Frank’s smell—somehow still smelling clean even though he was cut up, bloody, and sweating. The way Frank felt around him, and in his hand. It was overwhelming him that Frank trusted him enough to let him be close enough to feel this—trusted _him_ , a suicidal emotional wreck with bad judgment and no social skills…

“G-Gerard,” Frank cried out. It sounded like a question, but the only response Gerard could make was a stifled moan. “ _Close,_ ” he whimpered. Gerard began to thrust a little faster, almost feeling left behind until Frank grabbed him back the back of the neck and pulled him down into a kiss that he could barely partake in due to the pain that shot through him. He tried not to let on, but Frank noticed.

“Sorry, Gee! I forgot your neck was—are you okay!?” Gerard grunted in response to Frank’s panic, and tried to move past it by thrusting harder, trying to blot out the pain in his head. Frank’s little moans helped more than the actual contact did—Gerard was sure of it. He pumped Frank faster, practically tasting Frank’s moan when his orgasm came and relishing it as the muscles all tightened around him. 

When he came moments later, Frank’s name was on his lips, leaving his lover feeling wanted and whole. It didn’t matter that Gerard collapsed onto him and made his ribs hurt like hell, or that when he went to wrap an arm around Gerard’s shoulders, it made his own shoulder scream in protest. Gerard was his now, completely, and he was Gerard’s. It felt right that way. Like the last piece of puzzle had been found and set in place.

“Love you,” Gerard mumbled against Frank’s chest, barely comprehensible. 

“I love you, too, Gee,” Frank panted back, holding Gerard tightly and trying not to give in to the sleep that was threatening him into blackness at gunpoint. “Shower?” He forced himself to say. Gerard groaned. “Please?” He attempted. Gerard sighed and pulled away, making Frank hiss as he pulled out.

“I hope my Dad doesn’t come home while we’re there…” Gerard mumbled sleepily as he tied off the condom and looked lazily around for a place to put it. The small wastebasket across the room by his desk was the best spot, so he drug himself onto his feet and stumbled over to it, some of his pain missing.

“I’m small, you could sneak me out,” Frank said quietly as he slid out of the bed and stood up. “Think Mikey’s still in his room, because I really don’t want to put clothes on right now.” Gerard turned to look at him, preparing to say he didn’t really think walking around the house naked was even a remotely good idea, but the sound of the front door opening, footsteps entering, and the door closing, answered for him.

“Gerard?” It was his father, which made the boy in question growl in frustration before grabbing several pieces of worn clothing off of his floor and pulling them on. He tossed Frank an oversized sweatshirt and a loose pair of jeans, not really caring that everything he owned would be too big on him. “Mikey?”

“Dad, go back to work!” Mikey shouted from his room, the fact that he was actually yelling at the top of his voice surprising Gerard. “We’re not two years old!” His words became inaudible after that, loud mumbles. With Mikey keeping their father occupied with a verbal confrontation, Gerard and Frank had time to flip the light on and get dressed the rest of the way, looking at each other and knowing that they were both caught, but neither of them really giving a fuck. 

Realizing that they’d come to the same understanding, both of their faces broke into small grins and they looked away from each other before they could start to laugh.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard still couldn’t figure out why he got grounded but Mikey didn’t, but his dad’s attempt at playing an authority figure failed horribly either way. His dad left the room to use the toilet, and Gerard left the house to go to Frank’s. Unless his father had plans to literally keep him on a leash, there was no way in fuck he was keeping him on house arrest for this. 

If Mikey could bring home a girl, he could bring home Frank. He didn’t care if his dad thought it was “too soon” for him to be in another relationship, or if he thought he would “thank him someday” for “protecting” him—he was going to keep seeing Frank until the day he got him pregnant.

At least that was what he shouted the evening his dad had come home, fought with Mikey, came down to the basement and saw the condom wrapper on the floor and messed up bed sheets. (Yeah, Gerard knew he’d forget to pick that damned thing up.) It was needless to say he’d gotten a horribly confused look from Frank and rendered his father momentarily speechless. It wasn’t his best comeback, but it was true. (Though he later told Frank that if he somehow got pregnant, he’d stay with him anyway. Frank had only shook his head and told him not to worry about it.)

As it was, Gerard found himself lying in Frank’s bed, his head on his lover’s chest with arms wrapped securely around him. The window was open, and a light breeze was blowing in, making him feel complete on a beautiful Saturday morning. 

If his life was supposed to end, his father would be arriving any minute to drag him back home, but maybe today was the day his dad would just give up and let him be.


End file.
